A  SON  OF  ESAU 


A  SON  OF  ESAU 


BY 

MINNIE  GILMORE 

AUTHOR  OF 
"PIPES  FROM  PRAIRIE-LAND,"  ETC. 


"  And  so  taking  bread  and  the  pottage  of  lentils,  he  ate,  and  drank,  and  went 
his  way  ;  making  little  account  of  having  sold  his  first  birth-right." — GENESIS, 
xxv,  34. 

"  The  wages  of  sin,  is  death."— ST.  PAUL,  vi.,  23. 


NEW  YORK 

LOVELL,  CORYELL  &  COMPANY 

43,  45  AND  47  EAST  TENTH  STREET 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 

BY 
UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY, 


\All  r  if  A  is  reserved.] 


ffatber 

P.   S.   GILMORE,   MUSICIAN 

from  whose  flower  of  genius  my  seed  of  talent  is  inherited, 

and  to  whose  tender  love,  patient  faith,  and  generous  indulgence, 

I  owe  all  that  has  fostered  the  little  seed  to  bud  and  bloom,  and 


flfcotbet 


A  PERFECT  WOMAN" 

whose  paean  awaits  an  angel-voice  to  sing  it, 
above  Love's  -vox  Aumana,  heaven  high. 

With  the  prayer  of  my  soul, 
the  love  of  my  heart,  and  the  service  of  my  life, 

I  INSCRIBE  THIS  BOOK 


"  If  life-blood's  fertilizing,  I  wrung  mine 
On  every  leaf  of  this." 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 


2061825 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  NEWFIELD, 1 

II.  HARRIMAN'S  BLOCK, 10 

III.  "  FRESHET  SAL," 24 

IV.  SISTERS, 27 

V.  THE  SHAKESPEARE  CLUB  GIVES  A  DAXCE,        .  40 

VI.  ACROSS  THE  RUBICON, 63 

VII.  "THE  COST  AND  THE  PAIN,"       ....  75 

VIII.  To  YOUTH'S  SWEET  PAGE, 93 

IX.  IN  GOD'S  GOOD  TIME, 109 

X.  THE  DANCE  IN  JENKINS'  BARN,  .        .        .        .119 

XI.  SAL  RECEIVES  A  CALL,  AND  MAKES  ONE,  .        .  132 

XII.  THE  HONEYMOON, 140 

XIII.  THE  HONEYMOON  WANES, 145 

XIV.  THE  HONEYMOON  FLICKERS  OUT,        .        .       .  154 
XV.  A  MIDNIGHT  TOAST, 167 

XVI.  MAGDALEN, 178 

XVII.  FROM  FLAME  TO  ASHES,       .        .       .       .       .185 
XVIII.  A  PHANTOM  GUEST,       .        ...        .        .197 

XIX.  SWEET  CHARITY, 210 

XX.  AT  BENEDICTION, 222 

XXI.  THE  STAIN  OF  THE  MIRE, 227 

XXII.  IN  TIGHTENING  TOILS, 233 

XXIII.  A  SON  AND  HEIR 241 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  THE  REVEREND  HUNGERFORD  HARNEY,     .        .    251 

XXV.  "  You  SHALL  BE  RIGHTED,"        .        .        .        .261 

XXVI.  CLERGY  VERSUS  LAITY,         .        .        .        .        .     268 

XXVII.  DRUCE'S  CROWN  DRAWS  NEAR,    ....    275 

XXVIII.    KlNGSLEY  SAYS  GOOD-BY, 279 

XXIX.  EXIT  RUNDELL, 287 

XXX.  RUNDELL'S  REVENGE, 309 

XXXI.  "THE  WAGES  OF  SIN  is "  .        .        .        .317 

XXXII.  " DEATH!" 326 

XXXIII.  AN  END,  AND  A  BEGINNING,       .       .       .        .339 


NOTE. 

As  minor  characters,  I  have  ventured  to  introduce  into 
this  story  a  few  "  real  people,"  who  will  recognize  them- 
selves, and  be  recognized  by  their  neighbors.  The  re- 
sult of  such  recognition  may  be  a  suspicion  that  the  cari- 
catures with  which  these  are  associated  have  been  drawn 
from  the  same  social  circle.  Therefore,  I  beg  leave  to 
explain  that  Milly  and  Cilly  Hunter,  the  Linnetts,  the 
Tompsons,  etc.,  exemplify  types  unrepresented  in  the  so- 
ciety, as  I  know  it,  of  the  Western  neighborhood  to  which 
I  address  this  note.  An  apology,  however,  is  due  to  Mrs. 
Gome-Ins  (to  echo  a  Newfield  parody),  whose  faultless 
Queen's  English  I  have  been  constrained  to  translate  into 
a  ruder,  dialectical  tongue.  My  excuse  is  that  this  kindly, 
cordial,  and  hospitable  gentlewoman  is  a  typical  represen- 
tative of  a  kindly,  cordial,  and  hospitable  social  class.  In 
conclusion,  a  word  of  fond  and  grateful  acknowledgment 
to  Mrs.  Annabel  Eorke,  but  for  whose  long  hospitality  to 
"Miss  Bread-and-Butter,  her  Yankee  niece,"  the  "real 
people"  of  these  pages  were  strangers  to  them  ! 

M.  L.  G. 

NEW  YORK,  May,  1892. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU. 


CHAPTEB  t 

NEWFIELD. 

Bounded  by  the  Eocky  Mountains  on  the  west,  on  the 
east  by  a  vagrant  fork  of  the  Arkansas  Kiver,  known  as  the 
"  Freshet "  since  the  spring  night  thirty  years  before  my 
story  opens,  when  its  flooding  waters  had  overflowed  their 
banks  and  swept  away  the  camp  slumbering  on  their 
brink,  stretches  a  tract  of  country  which  presents  at  once 
the  characteristics  of  mountain  and  prairie,  of  hill  and 
valley,  of  wood  and  field  ;  maintaining  at  the  same  time  an 
individuality  which  these  diverse  features  fail  to  destroy. 
Its  mountains  are  such  gentle  acclivities,  its  valleys  such 
mere  dimples  of  descents,  that  they  seem  to  accentuate 
rather  than  to  interrupt  the  level  of  the  fundamental  plain, 
half-horizoned  in  the  distance  by  purple  mist  pierced  by 
glistening  snow-streaked  summits,  half  by  an  arch  of 
prairie  merged  in  iridescent  sky. 

Circling  the  Freshet  waters  in  irregular  random  fashion, 
spanning  them  here  by  a  bridge,  there  by  an  isthmus  of 
made-land  indistinguishable  at  the  present  day  from  a 
natural  formation,  the  town  of  Newfield  lifts  from  both 
upper  and  lower  banks  its  blocks  of  shops  and  houses,  its 
clustered  cottages  and  handsome  suburban  dwellings; 


2  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

beyond  which  rolls  the  prairie  toward  a  background  of 
sunlit  hillocks,  footstools  of  the  royal  forest  throned  on 
the  mountain  range.  Approached  from  either  east  or 
west,  its  aspect  is  alike  pleasing  to  the  eye,  jaded  in  the 
one  case  by  monotonous  stretches  of  plain  whose  for- 
lorn settlements — their  straggling  blocks  of  shops  and 
shanties  supplemented  by  still  more  straggling  ranks  of 
brutalized  humanity — suggest  a  dead-level  of  life  infinitely 
more  desolate  than  its  prototype  in  surrounding  nature  ; 
in  the  other,  by  deserts  of  sand  and  sage-brush,  and 
seamed,  shrivelled,  ghastly  alkali  wastes.  The  gradual 
slopes  that  mark  its  site  prepare  one  for  the  farther  foot- 
hills, and  for  the  mountains  looming  in  abrupt  range  be- 
yond; while  the  town  itself,  in  spite  of  an  almost  aggressive 
air  of  prosperity,  has  a  cordial,  open-hearted,  happy-go- 
lucky  atmosphere  about  it,  alluring  in  its  suggesti veil  ess 
of  vital  youth  and  hope. 

In  natural  aspect,  Newfield,  of  course,  varies  with  the 
seasons.  There  are  brief  times  when  its  surface  features 
seem  all  but  obliterated,  the  town-site,  the  adjacent  plains, 
the  more  distant  foot-hills,  the  mountains,  even  the  over- 
hanging sky  itself,  presenting  from  horizon  to  horizon  a 
single,  vast,  unbroken  blur  of  snow.  But  these  "  white 
days"  are  but  episodes,  the  ordinary  winter  day  of  the 
region  displaying  the  reviviscence  of  vivid  autumn,  set 
like  the  flame  in  an  opal,  in  a  monotint  of  snow. 

Neither  autumn  nor  winter  aspect  seems  characteristic 
of  Newfield,  however.  Irresistibly,  one  associates  it  with 
fairer  seasons  of  bloom  and  song  and  .sun.  When  the 
spring  with  golden  chisel  carves  through  the  marble  of 
the  frozen  snows  till  the  green  bases  of  the  mountains 
reappear  beneath  their  white  turrets  ;  and  the  streams, 
breaking  from  their  icy  bonds  like  butterflies  from  the 


A  SOX  OF  ESAU.  3 

chrysalis,  flash  flocks  of  wavelets  seaward  on  skimming 
new-fledged  wings  ;  when  the  willows  and  oaks  and  cedars 
re-don  their  emerald  vesture,  and  the  nude  gray  limbs  of 
the  cottonwoods  are  draped  anew  with  tenderest  green ; 
when  the  buffalo-grass  puts  up  its  spears,  and  the  daisies 
and  wind-flowers  and  mountain-lilies  break  in  white  and 
gold  and  azure  from  a  mosaic  of  spiraea  and  vetch;  when 
the  violet  blends  its  blue  with  the  iris,  and  the  wild  rose 
blushes  with  envy  beside  the  rosy  shooting-star ;  when 
the  sun  from  dawn  to  gloaming  shines  unshadowed  in 
blinding  golden  splendor,  and  the  crisp  cool  air  of  the 
mountains  is  warmed  and  scented  in  its  flight  through  a 
flowered,  myriad-winged,  song-laden  June — then  indeed, 
and  then  only,  does  Newfield  look  itself — a  new  Eden, 
fulfilling  the  fair  tradition  of  the  old  : 

"A  paradise  of  pleasure  .  .  .  brought  forth  of  the 
ground  all  manner  of  trees,  fair  to  behold,  and  pleasant  to 
eat  of  .  .  .  And  a  river  went  out  .  .  .  to  water 
paradise,  .  .  .  and  the  gold  of  that  land  is  very  good. " 

To  him  who  alights  at  its  little  station,  the  main  street 
of  Newfield  runs  down  like  an  eager  host  with  hand  out- 
stretched in  greeting.  Buildings  of  brick  and  granite 
bound  it  on  either  side,  their  architectural  monotony  re- 
lieved, here  by  the  dome  and  spires  of  a  Christian  fane, 
there  by  the  rival  thyrsus  of  pagan  Bacchus.  On  the 
north  corner  a  staid  old  post-office  sets  its  face  against 
the  south  corner,  where  an  upstart  telephone  tinkles  its 
clamorous  bell.  A  Morning  Daily  flouts  its  type  from  the 
east  side,  at  an  Evening  Daily  waiting  for  its  type,  on  the 
west.  Beyond  rises  the  great  hotel — haunt  of  commercial 
"  drummers,"  of  dashing  "  confidence-men,"  of  footlight 
stars  of  passage,  of  gay  young  bachelors,  of  truant  bene- 
dicts, of  unencumbered  wives,  of  "  willin'  "  widows,  of 


4:  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

maidens  rich  in  ringlets  as  in  years  ;  while  farther  on,  the 
new  town-hall,  proudly  ycleped  Opera  House,  lifts  an  at- 
tenuated but  patriotic  marble  eagle,  in  neighborly  juxta- 
position to  the  court-house  weathercock — an  ironical  em- 
blem, in  its  gilded  instability,  of  the  Justice  throned 
within. 

Leaving  the  town-centre,  the  main  street  of  Newfield 
soon  outstrips  its  bordering  brick  pavements,  which  are 
substituted  first  by  plank  paths  appropriately  called 
"  walks,"  each  and  all  of  them  not  only  walking  but  ab- 
solutely running  off,  darting  here  into  a  ditch,  mounting 
there  to  a  precipitous  and  unscalable  height,  disappear- 
ing elsewhere  into  some  yawning  roadside  gully ;  later, 
by  banks  of  grass  and  brush,  dotted  with  wayside  flowers. 
Beckoned  by  silver-green  cottonwoods,  by  sapling  pines 
astray  from  their  parent-groves,  by  wild-rose  thickets 
masquerading  in  thorns  like  maids  in  knightly  armor,  the 
long  road  sweeps  from  the  town  suburbs  to  their  adjacent 
camps  and  settlements,  beyond  which,  corn  and  grain 
fields,  slim  young  orchards,  and  vast  fields  grazed  by 
hoi-se  and  cattle,  mark  rich  outlying  districts  of  ranch  and 
farm. 

Twice  daily,  once  in  the  vivid  glow  of  the  morning 
sunshine,  once  in  the  shadows  of  the  evening  dusk,  the 
"  through  express,"  panting  and  puffing  like  an  exhausted 
giant,  halts  for  breath  in  the  little  town.  While  it  is  still 
afar,  cutting  its  iron-shod  way  through  the  distant 
mountains,  its  shrill,  clear  whistle  resounds  through  New- 
field,  announcing  its  approach.  Then,  throughout  the 
entire  town  a  transformation  is  observable.  The  station, 
but  now  apparently  deserted,  suddenly  brims  with  active 
life.  There  is  a  simultaneous  influx  of  travellers,  baggage, 
and  uniformed  officials  ;  carriages  whirl  down  the  street 


A  SOlf  OF  ESAU.  5 

to  the  waiting-room  entrance  ;  small  boys  gather  about 
the  doors.  Women  lean  from  the  windows  of  the  neigh- 
boring cottages,  and  salesmen  follow  their  customers 
from  the  shops,  and  look  down  toward  the  tracks.  Then, 
too,  sauntering  from  field  or  cottage,  or  lounging  toward 
the  station  from  saloon  and  corner,  may  be  seen  a  quaint 
procession  of  solitary  figures,  with  hands  in  tattered 
pockets  and  ragged  hat-brims  set  more  or  less  rakishly 
upon  ne'er-do-weel  heads — figures  such  as  every  railroad 
town  duplicates,  and  are  to  every  traveller  a  familiar, 
pathetic  sight.  Day  after  day,  year  after  year,  the  express 
comes  and  goes,  and  finds  them  as  it  left  them,  leaves 
them  as  it  found  them,  watching,  always  watching — 
waiting,  always  waiting — for  whom  or  what,  God  knows ! 
Like  wraiths  they  issue  forth,  like  wraiths  they  fade  from 
vie\y,  wraith-like  to  haunt  the  heart  when  eyes  no  longer 
see  them.  Somewhere,  one  knows,  in  patient,  wistful 
quest,  still  they  are  watching,  waiting. 

The  west-bound  train  arrives  at  daybreak ;  hence  the 
migrator  from  the  east  is  greeted  on  the  very  threshold  of 
Newfield  by  the  golden  augury  of  the  morning  sun.  His 
first  impulse  is  to  accept  the  invitation  of  the  long  main 
street  and  follow  it  whither  it  leads  him.  This  instinct  is 
born  sometimes  of  idle  curiosity,  often  of  eager  interest ; 
but  most  commonly  of  that  instinctive  desire  for  one  last 
hour  of  respite,  known  to  all  whose  wheels  of  life  are 
forced,  of  a  sudden,  to  adjust  themselves  to  new  and 
untried  grooves.  The  masculine  stranger,  sauntering, 
satchel  in  hand,  through  the  town  and  beyond  it,  is  a 
familiar  figure  to  Newfield,  but  one  that  never  fails  to  at- 
tract general  attention.  The  shopmen  lean  from  their 
doors  to  gaze  after  him ;  the  saloon-loafers  cease  their 
desultory  chat,  and  stare  in  silence  as  he  passes  ;  children 


6  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

leave  their  games  to  follow  in  his  footsteps,  caricaturing 
his  gait  and  carriage,  while  small  dogs  bark  and  caper  in 
the  rear  ;  young  girls  steal  curious  glances  at  him,  and  if 
he,  too,  be  young  and  comely,  smile  shyly  to  themselves, 
and  blush,  and  pass  with  quickened  heart-beats  ;  house- 
wives catching  a  glimpse  of  him  through  blinds  or  cur- 
tains, hasten  to  their  doors  in  kindly,  womanly  interest, 
and  watch  him  out  of  sight.  Soon  he  returns  to  face  the 
new  life — whether  for  victory  or  defeat,  who  knows? 
Not  the  men,  nor  the  children,  nor  even  the  new-comer 
himself,  asks  the  question  ;  the  hope  of  youth,  the  resolve 
of  manhood,  admits  no  possibility  of  defeat.  Only  the 
hearts  of  the  maidens  ask  it,  and  the  wistful  eyes  of  the 
women.  But  to  their  mute  question  no  present  answer 
comes. 

After  the  continental  express,  the  local  trains  steam- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  town  by  day  and  night,  are  features 
of  Newfield  life  which  demand  recognition.  Morning 
after  morning,  out  of  sight  of  the  rows  of  cottages  whence 
young  wives  wave  their  aprons,  young  mothers  beckon 
their  babies'  tiny  hands,  they  bear  crowds  of  sturdy, 
sombreroed,  high-booted  laborers  with  tools  over  shoul- 
ders, and  dinner-pails  swinging  from  brawny  hands  ;  re- 
turning at  night,  sometimes  swiftly  and  joyously,  with 
triumphant  clang  of  bell  and  whistle  ;  sometimes  slowly 
and  silently,  with  engines  sobbing  and  shuddering  like 
suffering  things — a  burden  of  bitter  human  pain  behind 
them.  A  mine  has  caved  in,  or  a  bridge  given  way,  or  a 
misplaced  switch  has  done  its  fatal  work,  and  the  dead 
and  wounded  are  many  ;  or  there  has  been  a  quarrel,  and 
a  blow  or  shot,  and  one  man's  working-time  is  ended,  and 
one  woman's  weeping-time  begun.  But  these  are  only 
the  common  mischances  of  border-life.  Like  ripples  on 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  1 

the  Freshet  waters  they  come  and  go — the  tide  flows  on 
unheeding. 

On  the  last  night  of  the  work-day  week — the  gala  night 
of  the  week  for  Newfield — the  local  train,  indeed,  reigns 
supreme.  Long  before  the  hour  of  its  arrival  the  human 
life  of  the  town  seems  to  empty  itself  into  the  little  sta- 
tion. All  is  bustle,  excitement,  expectation.  "  Runners  " 
for  the  rival  hotels,  saloons,  and  haunts  lower  down  in 
the  social  scale,  struggle  for  vantage-ground  with  stage- 
drivers,  teamsters,  and  pack-encumbered  and  encumber- 
ing pedlers ;  itinerant  showmen,  erecting  their  tents  on 
the  verge  of  the  tracks,  lift  rival  voices,  each  announcing 
his  own  attraction  and  denouncing  his  neighbors'  with  a 
play  of  word  and  wit  worthy  of  nobler  cause.  Often  from 
one  of  these  tents  emerges  a  half-nude  figure  clad  only  in 
gaudy  tights  and  glittering  spangles  ;  sometimes  a  man's 
figure,  usually  a  woman's.  Ordinarily  the  performance  is 
a  rope-walk  above  the  track-side  roofs,  or  from  pole  to 
pole  across  the  narrow  river.  When  it  is  ended  a  cheer 
goes  up  from  the  crowd,  and  a  shower  of  "nickels"  and 
dimes  falls  into  the  showman's  hat.  Then,  if  the  crowd 
wait  still,  some  street-corner  auctioneer,  tramping  his 
southward  way  toward  credulous,  trinket-loving  negro- 
dom,  sets  up  his  stand,  and  sends  his  confederate  to  the 
front  to  open  bids,  preluding  his  nasal  eulogy  of  gay  cot- 
ton handkerchiefs,  glass  diamonds,  brass  and  tin  jewelry, 
(warranted  pure  silk,  first  water,  and  precious  metal, 
respectively)  and  innumerable  other  articles  of  his  stock 
in  trade,  with  a  clever  medley  of  jest  and  song  and  story. 

Meanwhile  the  throng  grows  restless.  Men  and  women 
struggle  with  one  another  for  foothold.  A  rough  contest, 
begun  in  jest  by  a  couple  of  youths  in  the  background, 
ends  in  earnest,  and  it  is  shouted  that  there  will  be  a  fight, 


8  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

and  boys  and  men  force  their  way  through,  the  crowd  and 
close  around  the  combatants.  Showily-garbed  women, 
flushed  with  rum  and  rouge,  jostle  fresh-faced  girlhood, 
beautiful  in  its  youth  and  innocence,  and  curse  defiance 
of  the  contrast ;  white-haired  men,  with  the  pathetic  resig- 
nation of  helpless,  hopeless  Age  in  their  faces,  stand  side 
by  side  with  anxious-eyed  wives  and  mothers,  waiting  \vith 
mingled  hope  and  dread  what  the  train  shall  bring. 

A  cheer  from  the  crowd  announces  that  the  train  is  in 
sight.  A  moment,  and  it  slackens,  stops.  Then  from  the 
cars  a  motley  throng  descends — shifts  from  the  rival 
mines ;  contract-gangs  from  the  roads  and  bridges  ;  tim- 
ber-men from  the  camps  ;  cattle-men  from  the  ranches  ; 
cowboys  desperate  with  long  isolation,  recklessly  bent 
upon  wild  orgies  whose  memory  shall  warm  their  blood 
when  the  horror  of  lonely  days  and  nights  on  the  silent 
plains  shall  threaten  to  congeal  it ;  hunters  from  the 
mountains  and  forests,  with  dogs  and  guns  and  game  ; 
gamblers  from  neighboring  camps  and  city ;  real  estate 
"boomers;"  contractors,  overseers,  engineers,  represen- 
tatives of  every  form  and  degree  of  western  labor  and 
speculation — all  pour  in  a  very  torrent  of  humanity  into 
the  little  town,  to  such  result  of  wild  carouse  and  revel  as 
could  be  tolerated  only  in  a  comparatively  new  and  soci- 
ally lawless  community. 

And  dating,  though  it  does  historically,  if  somewhat 
hazily,  from  the  early  fifties,  Newfield  is  still  a  new  settle- 
ment ;  not  only  in  the  worst,  but  in  the  best  and  truest 
sense  of  the  word,  as  well.  The  spirit  of  youth,  sanguine, 
energetic,  indomitable,  is  in  it — a  spirit  which,  para- 
doxical though  it  be,  only  comparative  maturity  can  con- 
ceive. In  their  earliest  youth  our  pioneer  communities 
are  at  their  oldest ;  old  in  the  worst  and  saddest  sense, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  9 

with  the  disappointment,  failure,  despair,  and  consequent 
bitter  recklessness  of  decaying  settlements  which  surge 
into  them  at  their  outset,  impelled  by  such  forlorn  hope 
as,  while  life  lasts,  outlives  despair. 

These  baleful  elements,  inseparable  from  a  new  and 
wealth-seeking  community,  are  slow  to  become  extinct,  and 
in  the  meantime  the  social  problem  is  generated.  Ac- 
cording to  popular  belief,  the  social  life  of  the  West  is 
nothing  if  not  simple  ;  in  fact,  its  simplicity  is,  at  the 
present  day,  its  most  complex  feature.  The  lawless  spirit 
of  pi-e-civilized  days  survives,  at  bitter  war  with  the  ethics 
of  older  conservative  civilization  pitted  against  it.  Be- 
tween the  two  stands  the  class  which,  after  the  native  ele- 
ment, is  accepted  as  representative  of  the  West — the  cos- 
mopolitan immigrant  class  of  strong,  rude,  ambitious 
spirits  which,  set  face  to  face  in  solitude  with  the  universal 
Mother,  cast  off  the  oppressive  sense  common  in  effete 
and  over-crowded  communities,  of  unindividuality,  of  ir- 
responsibility, of  entity  existent  not  in  the  individual 
human  unit,  but  only  in  the  unity  of  Humanity  ;  and  de- 
velop in  their  rebound  a  dignity,  an  independence,  an 
uncompromising,  even  aggressive  assertiveness,  alike  eva- 
sive and  defiant  of  conventional  social  classification. 

Nevertheless,  the  social  problem  of  the  West  is  not 
unsolvable.  Already  from  its  primal  chaos  order  is  evolv- 
ing. The  brutality  of  lingering  barbarism,  the  material- 
ism of  an  immature  and  inferior  civilization,  the  libertin- 
ism of  a  primitive  society  whose  standards  are  uncertain, 
whose  laws  as  yet  uncompiled,  are  passing  away.  When 
the  evolution  is  complete,  the  social  millennium  of  our  Re- 
public will  have  come.  Already  the  West  has  conceived 
it.  In  ripe  time,  her  travail  ended,  she  shall  bring  it 
forth. 


CHAPTER  H. 

HARRIMAN'S  BLOCK. 

On  the  evening  of  which  I  write,  the  border-town  whose 
characteristic  features  have  been  described  but  cursorily, 
flashed  from  its  lonely  site  like  a  terrene  star,  its  myriad 
rays  flickering  in  far  fantastic  shadows  across  the  dark 
landscape.  Every  shop  on  the  long  main  street  was 
illumined ;  lamps  were  shining  at  the  windows,  lanterns 
swaying  above  the  open  doors ;  while  upheld  in  zealous 
hands,  scores  of  torches  with  long  flames  veering  in  the 
wind,  burned  before  a  new  and  imposing  structure  of  stone 
and  marble,  at  whose  entrance  was  stationed  in  twofold 
glory  of  uniform  and  instrument,  the  Newfield  brass  band. 
The  occasion  was  the  formal  opening  of  "Harrirnan's 
Block,"  which  included  not  only  the  Opera  House  already 
mentioned,  but  also  the  new  and  luxurious  quarters  of  the 
popular  private  bank  hitherto  known  as  Harriman's,  but 
henceforth  to  bear  the  more  imposing  title  of  the  Newfield 
Bank.  Half  a  dozen  blocks  away,  in  darkness  and  deser- 
tion, the  humbler  brick  building  which  had  done  bank- 
duty  heretofore,  hid  its  diminished  head  ;  and  like  the  old 
building,  the  old  administration  had  had  its  day.  "  Le 
roi  est  mort.  Vive  le  roi !  " 

The  inaugurative  ceremonies  which  were  drawing  to  a 
close  within  the  Opera  House  had  been  long  and  en- 
thusiastically anticipated  by  the  inaugurators  thereof,  if 
not  by  the  inaugurated.  Months  previously  a  committee 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  11 

bad  been  formed  ;  meetings  held  at  midnight  Lours  within 
the  secret  chambers  of  the  Whiskey  Straight  Club ;  re- 
solutions formerly  drawn  up,  and  signatured  with  much 
flourish  of  pen  by  the  resolvers  collectively  designated 
therein  as  "  We,  the  undersigned  :  "  the  local  orators  fore- 
warned of  the  "impromptus"  to  be  inspired  by  the  oc- 
casion ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  Newfield  brass  band 
bound  under  greenback  bonds,  to  figure  in  the  grand 
finale  with  trumpet  and  fife  and  drum. 

And  the  glorious  end  did  honor  to  the  means. 

The  Whiskey  Straight  Club,  if  not  individually  sobered 
on  the  eventful  night,  at  least  was  generally  so,  and  shaved 
and  shirted,  to  a  man  ;  the  resolutions  were  declaimed  by 
a  native  Demosthenes,  whose  cuds  of  tobacco  realistically 
represented  the  historic  pebbles  ;  the  impromptu  orators 
not  only  outdid  themselves,  but  capped  the  climax  of  elo- 
quence by  outdoing  one  another ;  the  trumpet  brayed  its 
brassiest  challenge  and  the  drum  responded  with  its  deep- 
est growl.  And  now,  with  simultaneous  flourish  of  ban- 
danna and  metaphor,  the  master  of  ceremonies  was  deliver- 
ing the  closing  address.  On  the  stage  surrounding  him 
were  seated  the  representative  men  of  Newfield  ;  i.e.,  such 
financial,  professional,  and  social  powers  as  even  in  border- 
towns  be,  painfully  self-conscious  cynosures  of  the  keen 
and  quizzical  eyes  of  the  represented,  crowding  the  Opera 
House  from  stage  to  exits,  galleries,  lobby,  and  aisles. 

The  alliterative  peroration  was  in  the  throes  of  delivery. 
It  proclaimed  America  to  be  the  stronghold  of  the  world  ; 
the  West  the  stronghold  of  America  ;  Colorado  the  strong- 
hold of  the  West ;  Denver — the  name  was  drowned  in  such 
a  voUey  of  groans,  cheers,  and  hisses  as  only  the  loyal 
factions  of  rival  American  townships  can  emit — Denver 
the  present,  Newfield  the  future  stronghold  of  Colorado  ! 


12  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  disapproving  Denverites  were  in  the  minority.  A 
thousand  Newfield  throats  sent  up  a  commendatory  shout 
which  was  echoed  by  the  crowd  without.  There  was  a  din 
with  which  the  roof  vibrated  ;  a  characteristic,  spontaneous 
outburst  in  which  bands,  feet,  hats,  voices,  and  whistles 
simultaneously  took  part.  The  master  of  ceremonies  pur- 
sued his  alliterative  way. 

"  The  stronghold  of  Newfield  is  in  its  ambitious,  ener- 
getic, enterprising,  successful  Newfielders  !  " 

During  the  ensuing  applause  the  self-consciousness  of 
the  representative  men  deepened  from  pain  to  agony. 
Representative  feet  shuffled  and  hands  twisted.  Repre- 
sentative faces,  even  such  as  knew  neither  Whiskey 
Straight  Clubs  overnight,  nor  matutinal  Caudle-lectures 
(wherein  wively  tongues,  falling"  foul  of  the  club-title,  laid 
caustic  stress  upon  the  exclusive  relation  of  the  adjective 
to  its  antecedent),  flushed  an  apoplectic  purple. 

"Hear !  hear  !  "  shouted  the  represented. 

"  Hear  !  "  echoed  the  crowd. 

"  Out  here  !  "  supplemented  a  wag,  from  the  street. 

The  master  of  ceremonies  resumed  : 

"  The  stronghold  of  Newfield  is  in  its  men,  plural ;  the 
stronghold  of  its  men  is  in  a  single  representative  man. 
This  man,  pioneer  of  us  all — he  who  lifted  the  first  tent 
on  Newfield  ground,  sunk  the  first  spade  in  Newfield  soil, 
struck  the  first  pick  on  Newfield  ore ;  who  led  the  way 
that  we  might  follow,  and  opened  the  gate  that  we  might 
pass  in ;  he  who  has  aided  the  weak  and  speeded  the 
strong  ;  who  has  spurred  on  the  timid  and  held  back  the 
reckless ;  who  has  been  a  father  to  the  young,  a  brother 
to  the  mature,  a  son  to  the  aged  ;  who  has  shared  his 
luck  with  the  unlucky,  and  grudged  not  to  cheer  on  the 
lucky  to  their  goal ;  he  who  has  accepted  our  small  trusts 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  13 

with  our  great  ones,  and  been  loyal  to  each  and  all — this 
man,  founder  of  Newfield,  father  of  Newfielders,  life-long 
and  faithful  guardian  of  Newfield's  financial  trusts,  is 

JOHN   HARRIMAN  !  " 

The  acclamation  was  deafening.  The  walls  shook,  the 
rafters  rang  with  it.  Men  cheered  and  women  sobbed. 
From  the  centre  of  the  stage  an  old  man  walked  to  the 
front ;  a  white-haired,  venerable  figure  infused  for  the 
moment  with  all  the  erectness  and  vigor  of  youth.  He 
stood  with  bowed  head  while  the  applause  thundered  on. 
"When  he  turned  back  to  his  seat,  tears  were  running  down 
his  face. 

The  speaker  resumed. 

"  As  holder  of  such  trusts  John  Harriman  resigns,  to 
be  succeeded  by  his  son, 

STEELE  HARRIMAN." 

A  young  man  of  splendid  physical  proportions  rose 
from  his  seat  on  the  stage  and  gravely  acknowledged  the 
public  plaudit. 

"  To  be  succeeded  by  his  son,  Steele  Harriman,"  reit- 
erated the  interrupted  orator ;  "  to-night  formally  installed 

BANKER  OF  NEWFIELD  !  " 

"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  struck  up  the  band  outside,  in 
apposite  suggestion.  The  inauguration  ceremonies  were 
at  an  end. 

The  master  of  ceremonies  made  his  bow  and  retired, 
the  representative  men  following  him  with  suspicious 
alacrity  ;  whereupon  the  emulative  spirit  of  the  repre- 
sented inspired  them  to  a  sudden  exchange  of  mysterious 


14  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

winks  and  signals,  winch  watchful  wives,  intercepting, 
promptly  annulled  by  unanimous  declaration  that  the 
exchanges  thereof  were  to  "march  straight  home." 

As  the  stage  cleared  there  was  long  and  loud  applause, 
a  general  upthrowing  of  hats,  a  final  volley  of  lusty  cheers. 
Then,  down  the  broad  stairs  to  the  street,  displacing  the 
band  and  forcing  the  torch-holders  back  to  the  opposite 
pavement,  poured  a  stream  of  noisy  humanity  ;  the  men, 
picturesque  in  their  colored  shirts  and  wide  sombreros, 
the  women  grotesque  in  contrast,  in  their  forlorn  sugges- 
tion of  conventional  gala  attire.  Around  these,  after  a 
momentary  struggle,  the  outstanders  closed  in  an  impene- 
trable human  wall.  There  was  a  cordial  exchange  of 
familiar  greetings,  then  all  eyes  turned  expectantly 
toward  a  window  overhead. 

"  Speech  !  "  cried  an  enthusiastic  torch-bearer. 

"  Speech  !  Speech  ! "  reiterated  the  multitude. 

"Arrah,  an'  its  kilt  entoirely  we're  afther  bein'  th' 
noight,  wid  yer  sp'aches,  sp'aches ! "  protested  a  musical 
Celtic  voice.  "  Faith,  if  th'  hands  uv  yez  match'd  th' 
tongues,  there'd  be  more  pratees  i'  th'  pot  for  th' 
childer." 

"  An'  thrue  for  ye,  Mrs.  Murphy,  dear.  Wurra !  wurra  ! 
wurra  !  "  wailed  a  mischievous  youth  in  the  background. 

"  Howld  yer  whist,  woman  !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Murphy's 
worser  half,  waving  his  short  clay  pipe  like  a  shillalah. 
"  Shure,  an'  divil  a  tongue  a  man  'ud  be  afther  wan  tin'  at 
all  at  all,  barrin'  to  rist  th'  woman's." 

"  Rest  yer  own,  Paddy,"  advised  a  neighbor. 

"  Gi'  us  a  rest,"  groaned  the  crowd. 

A  girlish  voice  broke  the  silence.  "It's  nigh  on  ter 
midnight,  boys,"  it  plained.  "  Gi'  a  gal  a  show  fur  a 
snack  o'  sleep  afore  sun-up." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  15 

"  Her's  a-worritin'  about  'er  beyuty-sleep,  is  Mandy ! " 
laughed  a  woman,  shrilly.  "Let  'er  out,  boys.  Bob 
Jenkins  '11  git  skeert  afore  he  buys  th'  ring,  ef  'taint 
getten  reg'lur." 

A  broad-shouldered  young  farmer,  a  rugged  weed  iu 
appearance,  but  whose  opaque  complexion  proved  him  by 
all  poet-lore  to  be  but  a  timid  flower,  since  born  to  blush 
unseen,  grinned  consciously,  and  shuffled  into  the  scrawny 
shadow  of  his  paternal  parent,  wlio  turned  upon  the 
speaker  a  pair  of  twinkling  gray  eyes. 

"Bob  Jenkins  hed  his  skeer,  bet  thet  thar  Sunday 
squint  o'  your'n,  ole  gal,"  he  said,  "  when  he  fust  seed 
yo' !  an'  Mandy  'yer,  nor  nary  gal,  hain't  half  a  show  ter 
skeer  him,  arter." 

A  howl  of  delight  greeted  this  outburst,  and  the  "  ole 
gal,"  certainly  not  a  creature  of  beaut}-,  subsided.  At  the 
same  instant  a  sudden  flash  of  light  from  the  Opera 
House  attracted  all  eyes  to  a  balconied  window  overhead. 

"Shet  up  yer  heads." 

"  'Yer  they  come." 

"  Three  cheers  fur  th'  old  un  ! " 

"A  tiger  fur  young  Steele  Harriman  ! " 

"  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !     Ra-a-a-a-a-ah  ! " 

The  big  drum  rolled  an  enthusiastic  accompaniment  to 
the  cheers  that  greeted  the  simultaneous  appearance  of 
the  Harrimans — father  and  son — at  the  Opera  House 
window.  Then  out  upon  the  upper  balcony  stepped  John 
Harriman. 

"  My  friends,"  he  began,  simply,  "  I'm  gettin'  old  !  " 

No  murmurs  of  polite  dissent  greeted  this  avowal. 
The  crowd  accepted  the  truth  as  self-evident,  and  waited 
for  what  should  follow.  What  did  follow  was  unex- 
pected. 


16  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  old  girl  who  bad  attacked  Maudy  Smith,  and  been 
routed  with  slaughter  by  Mandy  Smith's  prospective  kins- 
man, was  still  sore  from  the  slur  cast  upon  her  beauty, 
and  her  misery  had  the  proverbial  desire  for  company. 

"I'm  gettin"  old,"  repeated  John  Harriman,  emphati- 
cally. 

The  old  girl  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"  Sure,  an'  thar's  nary  fool  sayin'  aught  ter  th'  differ'," 
she  shouted.  "  Hain't  ye  getten  no  lookin'-glass  ter  th' 
big  house,  ole  man,  thet  ye're  tellin'  fur  news  wot's  plum'- 
plain  ez  yer  nose  this  twenty  year  ?  " 

Old  John  Harriman  was  undisturbed. 

"Th'  old,"  he  went  on,  "th'  old  must  clear  track  fur 
th'  young." 

The  light  from  the  lamps  behind  shone  on  his  long  white 
hair,  on  his  high  broad  brow,  on  his  soul-illumined  eyes. 
He  looked  a  patriarch  of  yore  ;  an  Elias  with  inspired 
gaze  fixed  on  the  chariot  of  his  translation. 

"Ikem  here  a  poor  lad,"  he  said,  "  kem  here  before 
th'  first  o'  ye,  when  th'  only  roofs  as  sheltered  us  was  th' 
pines,  when  our  only  food  was  wot  our  guns  shot  down, 
an'  our  only  neighbors — God  help  us — them  as  gev  wel- 
come wi'  whoop  an'  torch  an'  hatchet !  " 

His  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  victor. 

"I  hev  lived  through  it  all,"  he  cried,  "lived  through 
th'  hardship,  an'  th'  want,  an'  th'  danger  ;  lived  through 
th'  wearin'  years  o'  struggel,  an'  waitin',  an'  failyer  ;  lived 
ter  stand  here  ter-night,  th'  father  o'  Steele  Harriman, 
th'  happiest  man  on  all  God's  happy  earth  !  " 

His  face  was  almost  dazzling  in  its  radiance. 

"Through  all  these  here  years,"  he  said,  "  we  hev  b'en, 
ye  an'  me,  as  a  father  an'  his  chil'ren  ;  through  all  these 
here  years  I  hev  took  yer  little  piles,  an'  saved  'em,  an' 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  17 

swelled  'em  fur  ye  ;  through  all  these  here  years  I  hev  b'eu 
a  proud  man,  a  glad  man,  a  grateful  man  fur  yer  trust  in 
me.  Ter-night,  thanldn'  ye  fur  switchin'  that  trust  outer 
young'rer  an'  strong'rer  shoulders,  thankin'  ye  fur  giviu' 
it  inter  young'rer  an'  abler'r  hands,  thankin'  ye — me,  th' 
father — fur  th'  faith  an'  trust  ye  pass  down  ter  th'  sou,  I 
am  a  proud'rer,  a  glad'rer,  a  gratef  uller'r  man,  by  far !  " 

His  arms  strained  toward  them. 

"  J  love  ye,"  he  cried,  "  ev'ry  man,  an'  woman,  an'  child 
o'  ye.  Side  by  side  we've  stood  tergether,  shar'd  failyer  an' 
good  fortun',  hoped,  an'  joyed,  an  sorrered,  heart  ter  heart. 
If  I  didn't  know  as  my  son  Steele  was  good  an'  squar'  an' 
honest,  if  I  couldn't  sw'ar  ter  his  faith  an'  truth  an'  honor, 
if  the  smalles'est,  faintes'est  fear  o'  him  was  in  my  heart — 
by  ev'ry  star  above  I  sw'ar  that  son  or  no  sou,  I  would  smite 
him  wi'  my  own  hand,  like  Abra'm  his  Isaac,  before  yer  piles 
should  quit  my  keepin'  fur  my  son  Steele's,  ter-night ! " 

There  was  a  spontaneous  burst  of  applause  from  the 
crowd.  There  were  tears  in  many  of  the  honest  eyes. 
Old  John  Harriman  lifted  his  outstretched  arms  toward 
heaven. 

"  As  he  does  by  ye,"  he  said,  "  as  he  is  true  ter  yer 
trusts,  as  he  holds  ter  yer  faith,  as  he  stands  by  ye  in 
good  an'  in  bad  days,  in  th'  beginnin'  an*  in  th'  end 
— so,  fur  good  or  fur  bad,  fur  joy  or  fur  sorrer,  fur 
blessin'  or  fur  curse,  God  do  uuter  him,  my  one  son — God 
do  unter  him  ! " 

The  rude  eloquence  went  straight  to  the  hearts  of  the 
simple  hearers.  There  was  not  a  dry  eye,  not  an  un- 
touched soul,  among  them  as  the  old  man  stepped  from 
the  balcony  and  disappeared  in  the  room  behind. 

Young  Harrimau,  taking  his  place  upon  the  impromptu 
platform,  scanned  the  faces  below  him  with  a  momentary 


18  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

look  of  keen,  almost  quizzical,  criticism.  As  the  light 
shone  full  upon  him  a  murmur  rose  from  the  crowd,  akin 
to  the  spontaneous  tribute  of  the  thrilled  multitude  to  the 
young  gladiator  stripped  for  the  arena.  He  was  a  splen- 
did specimen  of  perfect  physical  manhood — a  grandly- 
built  young  giant  of  one  and  thirty,  with  fine  head  set 
imperiously  upon  powerful  shoulders,  flashing  dark  eyes 
clouded  with  gray,  and  sensuous  lips  that  met  relentlessly 
over  strong  white  teeth.  He  wore  a  jacket  of  rough  oloth, 
buttoned  closely  to  his  handsome  throat,  whose  vocal 
promise  his  sonorous  tones  fulfilled.  He  bared  his  head 
and  ran  his  hand  quickly  through  his  dark  hair. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "  you  know  me  !  " 

The  brusque,  matter-of-fact  address  was  not  without  its 
charm.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  his  auditors  descended 
from  the  heights  to  which  John  Harriman's  burning  words 
had  lifted  them. 

"  You  have  known  me,  the  greater  number  of  you,  since 
I  was  a  little  chap  the  size  of  Charity  Brown's  Tommy 
there,  asleep  in  his  mother's  arms." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  friendly  assent.  He  struck  one 
hand,  clenched  tightly,  upon  his  open  palm. 

"If  you  run  any  risk,"  he  said,  "you  run  it  with  your 
eyes  open." 

"  We  bean't  no  bit  afeard  o'  ye,  lad,"  shouted  a  friendly 
voice.  He  did  not  heed  it. 

"  If  I  break  faith  with  you,  I  break  it  with  myself  !  Not 
a  thing  a  man  means  to  do,  not  a  thing  a  man  does  delib- 
erately ;  yet  men  have  done  it,  and  men  will  do  it,  to 
the  end  of  time  !  " 

His  face,  calm  to  impassiveness,  was  suddenly  moved 
by  some  strong  emotion.  His  voice  rang  out  in  impulsive 
passionate  appeal. 


A  SOy  OF  ESAU.  19 

"  How  should  I  know  that  I  am  better,  stronger,  truer 
than  these  ?  "  he  cried.  "  How  can  I  swear  that  I  will  not 
prove  one  of  them  ?  " 

There  was  an  uneasy  stir  in  the  crowd.  This  was  not 
the  style  of  address  that  had  been  expected  from  mas- 
terful Steele  Harriman.  Feet  shifted,  and  questioning 
eyes  met  confusedly.  Suddenly  a  manly  voice  broke  the 
silence  : 

"  Ye're  an'  honest-spoken  lad,"  it  said.     "  We'll  resk 

And  a  hundred  voices  caught  up  the  cry. 

"  We'll  resk  ye,  lad  !    We'll  resk  ye  !  " 

Was  his  curious  pallor  born  only  of  the  light  slanting 
suddenly  from  the  window  behind,  or  of  some  mystic  evil 
premonition,  as  he  heard  them  ? 

For  a  moment  he  stood  with  parted  quivering  lips. 
Then,  regaining  his  self  control,  he  ended  his  speech  with 
a  few  commonplace  yet  eloquent  words.  His  voice,  as  he 
disappeared,  vibrated  along  the  silence  like  an  echoing 
organ-tone. 

Two  men,  contrasts,  typically,  to  their  fellow-townsmen, 
had  lingered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  interested 
spectators  of  the  scene.  As  the  cheers  died  away,  the 
younger  turned  impulsively  to  his  companion. 

"  He  is  a  young  Anak,"  he  said,  "and  the  body  is  the 
symbol  of  the  spirit.  I  would  swear  by  him  as  by  my 
own  soul." 

The  reply  of  Thaddeus  Keene,  M.D.,  was  characteristic 
of  him. 

"  So  would  all  these  other  fools,"  he  said,  curtly. 

For  a  moment  they  walked  on  in  silence.  Then  Dr. 
Keene  broke  out  suddenly  and  fiercely. 


20  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

" Fools !"  be  repeated.  Fools!"  Judging  the  spirit 
by  the  flesh  that  masks  it — mistaking  mere  animal  mag- 
netism for  the  power  of  a  pure  and  upright  soul !  " 

He  struck  his  cane  sharply  against  the  plank  sidewalk. 

"  He  is  a  handsome  animal,"  he  said,  "with  the  animal 
nature — rapacious,  unscrupulous,  irresponsible." 

They  had  turned  from  the  main  street  into  a  cross-road 
shadowed  by  cottonwoods.  As  Dr.  Keene  spoke,  a  girl, 
mounted  on  a  bay  pony,  flashed  past  them,  followed  by 
two  horsemen,  who  cheered  as  they  gained  upon  her. 

"  Miss  Sterling,  I  think,"  said  Druce,  quickening  his 
pace.  "  Can  those  men  be  annoying  her?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  answered  the  doctor.  "  Our  boys  are 
rough,  but  not  ungallaut.  She  should  not  ride  alone  at 
night,  however.  I  wonder  why  that  young  calf,  Holbrook, 
is  not  baa-baaing  round  her,  as  usual.  He  has  been  liv- 
ing in  a  fool's  paradise  of  late,  poor  young  simpleton  ! 
"When  the  flaming  sword  drives  him  out,  mark  my  words, 
no  angel's  hand  will  wield  it!  Only  the  strength,  daring, 
and  fascination  of  the  other  type  will  ever  pierce  her  maid- 
en armor.  At  present,  she  is  the  most  graciously  un- 
gracious young  person  of  her  sex.  One  always  feels 
declined,  with  thanks  !  " 

"Her  reserve  is  not  ungraciousness,  I  think,"  replied 
Druce,  after  a  moment.  "  She  is  proud,  in  a  gentle,  maid- 
enly, exquisitely  virginal  way ;  but  her  heart  peeps  through 
her  hauteur  as  shyly  and  sweetly  as  a  young  spring  crocus 
out  of  the  April  snow.  To  me  she  seems  a  type  of  the 
highest,  purest,  sweetest  species  of  girlhood.  Years  ago 
I — I  knew  one  like  her." 

His  voice  faltered,  but  the  doctor,  absorbed  in  the  sub- 
ject of  the  moment,  did  not  heed  his  emotion.  "Of 
course,  she  is  a  disciple  of  yours  ?  "  he  queried. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  21 

"I  fancy,"  answered  Druce,  "that  she  is  the  disciple  of 
One  higher,  independent  of  creed  and  priest — one  of  the 
chosen  ones  who,  unaided,  walk  with  Him.  I  am  some- 
what surprised,  however,  that  she  is  not  a  Catholic.  Her 
father  came  of  Catholic  stock,  and  Mrs.  Rounds  tells  me 
that  she  was  educated  in  a  convent.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  cloister  hovers  about  her  still.  One  feels,  rather 
than  sees,  the  vestal  veil." 

"  You  approve  the  vestal  veil  ?  " 

"I  venerate  it  out  of  as  in  the  cloister.  It  is  the  un- 
seen wing  upon  which  pure  women  soar  through  the  world 
unsullied.  After  all,  the  influence  of  religious  training 
in  youth — an  influence  which,  deny  it  as  we  Protestants 
may,  no  secular  school  exerts — cannot  be  over-estimated. 
Religion  thus  becomes  a  part  of  life,  not  apart  from  it. 
Do  you  know,  Doctor,  I  sometimes  find  it  difficult  to  re- 
alize that  Miss  Sterling  is — Mrs.  Rouuds's  sister  ?  " 

"  The  virginal  atmosphere  not  quite  so  tangible,  eh  ?  " 
chuckled  the  doctor.  "  My  dear  Druce,  both  vulture  and 
dove  belong  to  the  bird  family." 

The  Reverend  Druce,  solving  the  enigma,  scrupled  his 
uncharitableness,  and  subsided  into  contrite  silence.  But 
the  doctor's  conscience  was  less  sensitive.  His  conviction 
was  that  charity  ceased  to  be  a  virtue,  exercised  in  favor 
of  Althea  Rounds. 

"  To  return  to  our  little  Easterner,"  he  said,  resuming 
the  subject  where  Druce  had  dropped  it,  "why  will  she 
not  return  to  the  East,  where  she  belongs?  The  West 
is  too  brutal  for  her  tender  soul  and  heart.  Even  so- 
cially she  is  incongruously  out  of  place.  Newfield  and 
New  York — the  '  Shakespeare  Club,'  and  Marmaduke 
Sterling's  daughter !  Pah !  The  association  is  an  ab- 
surd— under  the  circumstances,  a  pathetic  mistake  !  " 


22  A  soy  OF  ESAU. 

"Marmaduke  Sterling  was  a  great  man  in  the  world  of 
letters,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  No,  he  was  a  man  who  just  missed  being  great.  He 
was  the  seed.  His  daughter  is  the  flower.  Alas  for  her  ! 
born  to  the  artist-heritage  which  means  for  the  woman  a 
life-long  lien  on  Pain.  Much  as  I  dread  the  "West  for  the 
girl,  I  dread  it  more  for  the  artist.  The  artistic  nature  is 
too  fine  for  us.  As  an  episode  the  rude  experience  might 
not  hurt  her,  but  there  is  absolutely  no  chance  that  it  will 
be  but  an  episode.  She  has  come  to  stay.  It  is  Kismet." 

"You  mean  that  she  will  marry?"  asked  Druce,  not 
uncheerfully. 

"I  mean  that  she  will  be  married,"  replied  the  doctor, 
with  fine  distinction.  "  The  local  man  will  be  hit,  hard 
hit.  He  will  be  strong,  passionate,  picturesque — a  new 
type  to  her ;  and  she  will  mistake  her  bewilderment,  her 
fear,  her  fascination,  for  love.  She  is  open  to  impres- 
sions ;  the  awakening  from  her  poet-dreams,  the  invasion 
of  her  virgin -shrine,  will  daze  her.  Poor  little  fledgling 
song-bird  thrust  into  the  shadow  of  the  eagle's  wing, 
what  hope  that  the  eagle  will  spare  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  in  God's  hands,  Doctor,"  reminded  the  young 
minister,  gently. 

"And  in  Althea  Rounds' s,  "  sighed  the  doctor,  "who 
will  move  earth  and  he — aven,  take  my  word  for  it, 
Druce,  to  bring  the  girl  and  Harriman  together !  She 
will  have  her  little  motive — irreproachable  Althea !  " 

"  Now,  Doctor  !  " 

"Don't  'now  Doctor'  me  in  defence  of  Althea  Bounds. 
I  know  her !  George  Rounds  disapproves  her  intimacy 
with  Hamrnan,  and  Althea  disapproves  his  disapproval. 
Her  sister  will  be  the  tool  and  victim  of  her  revenge.  The 
tool,  because  she  will  be  used  for  Althea's  ends  ;  the  vie- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  23 

tim,  because  her  future  will  be  sacrificed  to  Steele  Harri- 
man's  past,  whose  unlaid  ghost  must  haunt  her — not 
in  the  form  of  Althea,  of  the  Ledge,  however  ;  but  of  Sal, 
of  the  Freshet  cabin  !  " 

The  minister  halted  in  his  walk,  turning  upon  the  doc- 
tor a  protesting,  pained  young  face. 

"Surely,  Doctor,"  he  cried,  "you  do  not,  you  cannot 
believe  that  cruel  slander  ?  " 

"Five  years  ago,"  evaded  the  doctor — "before  your 
Newfield  day,  I  think — Jack  Harriman,  Steele's  younger 
brother,  met  a  tragic  death  in  a  gambling-hell  of  the  min- 
ing-camp known  as  Smith's  Settlement.  Rumors  of  foul 
play  followed  the  body,  which  Steele  brought  home  for 
interment,  and  after  the  funeral  he  returned  to  the  camp, 
where  he  lingered  for  several  months.  Less  than  a  year 
later,  the  woman  Sal,  with  her  new-born  child,  appeared 
in  the  Freshet  cabin.  I  attend  the  child — who  is  slowly 
but  surely  dying  of  a  spinal  weakness  born  with  her — 
and  discovered  by  merest  chance  that  she  was  bom  in 
Smith's  Settlement." 

"  A  coincidence,"  laughed  Druce,  "  which  affords  not 
the  slightest  excuse  for  your  suspicions.  Doctor,  you 
surprise  me." 

"To  the  deuce  with  your  coincidence,"  fumed  the  iras- 
cible doctor.  "I  tell  you  that  the  child  is  a  Harriman." 

The  Reverend  Druce,  halting  abruptly,  lifted  his  hat. 

"Good-night,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  resentful  young  face  regret- 
fully, even  yearningly,  for  the  moment.  Then  he  turned 
away  with  characteristic  stoicism. 

"One  more  moth  for  the  flame  to  scorch  !"  he  mut- 
tered, and  went  his  way  alone. 


CHAPTER  HL 
''FRESHET    SAL." 

In  the  meantime  the  hero  of  the  evening,  forcing  his 
way  through  the  dispersing  crowd,  had  vaulted  to  his 
saddle,  and  turned  into  a  road  leading  somewhat  circuit- 
ously  northwestward  from  the  town.  At  first  he  spurred 
his  mare  to  a  fierce  gallop,  but  little  by  little,  as  the  peace 
of  the  midnight  stole  upon  him,  he  retarded  her  pace  to 
a  steady  canter,  which  gradually  slackened  to  a  walk. 

All  about  him  was  the  shadowy  semi-darkness  of  the 
spring  night.  He  paused  under  a  clump  of  pines  waver- 
ing in  the  starlight  like  the  hovering  phantoms  of  some 
dusky  Titan  race,  and  bared  his  head  to  the  night-breezes. 
The  spell  of  an  unwontedly  exalted  mood  was  upon  him. 
Whence  had  it  come  ?  What  subtle,  resistless  force  had 
converted  his  speech,  in  premeditation  a  triumph  of  art, 
into  a  triumph  of  nature  ?  What  boyish  impulse  had 
constrained  him  to  stretch  out  his  arms  in  sudden  pas- 
sionate gesture,  and  appeal  to  that  gaping  wondering 
crowd  for  strength  and  succor?  His  heart  was  throbbing 
excitedly  ;  his  breath  passed  his  lips  in  short  quick  gasps. 
The  calm  moon  mounted  her  midnight  turret  The  light 
of  her  lucent  banners  flickered  across  his  face.  The  wind 
blew  freshly  about  him,  pungent  with  pine-scents,  and 
moist  with  vaporous  mists.  The  pine-boughs  stirred  in 
it,  and  the  rustle  of  their  spiuous  leafage  broke  on  the 
stillness  softly  as  a  fledgling-note.  The  restful  sounds  did 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  25 

not  soothe  him.  They  hurt,  in  their  solemnity,  in  their 
tenderness,  in  their  purity  and  peace,  the  unrestful  soul 
within  him. 

Through  the  open  door  of  a  cabin  in  the  gloom  before 
him  nickered  a  familiar  light,  its  breeze-blown  flame 
beckoning  eerily,  like  some  luminous  phantom-hand.  He 
spurred  his  mare  toward  it.  Where  the  road  emerged 
from  the  pine-shadows,  it  was  bathed  in,  flooded  with, 
the  light  of  the  mid-heaven  moon.  On  both  sides  lay  the 
spring  prairie,  a  limitless  field  of  dappled  cloth  of  gold. 
To  the  front,  distant  and  visionary,  mystic  as  Sphinx  be- 
hind their  opaline  veils  of  mist,  rose  the  mountains.  Be- 
tween them  and  the  cabin  flashed  a  fall  of  moon-lit  waters. 
Their  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  his  own  soul.  He  knew  it 
in  all  its  keys  and  cadences,  in  all  its  changeful  scales  of 
skies  and  seasons.  He  knew  the  creak  of  the  old  boat 
moored  just  beyond  the  Freshet  cross-roads,  for  years 
unused  and  forgotten ;  the  grating  of  its  keel  on  the 
bank,  the  rattle  of  its  loosened  oars,  the  splash  of  the 
shallow- waves  against  it.  To-night  the  waters  were  surg- 
ing restlessly,  almost  stormily;  and  over  their  sullen 
undertone  sounded  the  liquid  murmur  of  a  tiny  stream 
which,  swollen  by  the  spring  rains,  was  making  its  way, 
slope  by  slope,  down  a  neighboring  hill-side.  He  lingered 
a  moment  after  he  had  dismounted,  looking  down  at  the 
moon-lit  waters ;  and  even  as  he  looked,  the  little  stream 
met  the  strong  one  and  was  engulfed. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  cabin  built  upon  the  Freshet's 
brink  stood  a  woman,  young  and  of  regal  stature  and 
physique ;  handsome,  with  an  almost  savage  beauty,  har- 
monious with  its  surroundings  as  were  the  distant 
mountains  looming  darkly,  imperiously  against  the  hori- 
zon of  stellar  sky.  The  light  behind  lent  a  lustrous  tint 


26  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

to  her  dark  hair,  and  projected  in  bold  relief  the  noble 
lines  of  her  figure  clad  in  a  gown  of  dark  flannel,  relieved 
by  a  crimson  neckerchief.  Her  face,  etherealized  by  the 
moonlight,  was  turned  toward  him.  No  star  in  all  the 
glowing  pageantry  of  heaven  eclipsed  in  radiance  her 
sombre  eyes. 

"  Sal,"  he  called,  softly. 

She  was  murmuring  a  weird  reiterative  melody,  sway- 
ing her  body  to  its  fitful  rhythm,  and  was  apparently 
unconscious  of  his  approach.  Her  voice,  in  its  minor 
monotone,  had  the  desolate,  mournful  music  of  the 
mountain-waters,  of  the  winds  as  they  sweep  unhindered 
from  pine-clad  peak  to  peak. 

"  Sal !  "  he  repeated. 

The  night-express  was  speeding  along  its  river- side 
tracks.  Its  shrill  whistle,  thrice  repeated,  pierced  the 
silence.  The  woman's  song  ceased  abruptly.  She  raised 
both  hands  to  her  mouth,  and  hollowing  her  fingers  over 
her  lips,  sent  forth  a  long,  clear,  echoing  note.  A  single 
softer  whistle  answered  it.  As  the  sound  died  away,  she 
turned  to  him  with  a  defiant  laugh.  He  took  a  quick 
step  toward  her.  She  retreated  into  the  cabin.  He 
followed  her  across  the  threshold,  and  the  door  shut 
upon  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SISTERS. 

Miss  Isolde  Sterling,  cantering,  or,  as  the  West  has  al- 
ready taught  her  to  call  it,  "  loping,"  toward  the  Ledge, 
as  the  crowd  about  the  Opera  House  dispersed,  felt 
guiltily  conscious  that  she  was  in  the  exalted  state  of  mind 
which  her  sister  Althea,  Mrs.  George  Bounds,  mistress  of 
the  Ledge,  was  wont  to  designate  as  "fatherish."  Had 
the  unfilial  adjective  pierced  the  silence  of  the  grave  un- 
der the  Eastern  grasses,  the  peace  of  the  dead  would  not 
have  been  disturbed.  Among  other  bitter  lessons,  life 
had  taught  Marmaduke  Sterling  to  expect  nothing  filial 
from  his  daughter  Althea. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  brevity  of  Althea's  maiden  years  had 
been  their  one  redeeming  feature.  With  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  restless,  ambitious,  disappointed  youth,  she 
had  rebelled  against  the  social  isolation  born  of  her  fath- 
er's recluse-life,  and  absorption  in  lore  and  letters  ;  and 
her  rebellion  had  not  been  a  silent  one.  When  George 
Rounds,  crossing  her  path  by  fate  or  chance,  had  turned 
back  to  look  at  her,  found  her  fair,  and  thereupon 
plunged  into  love  in  characteristic  headlong  fashion, 
Marmaduke  Sterling  had  relinquished  her  to  his  arms 
with  a  sigh,  indeed  ;  a  sigh  born  not  of  paternal  regret, 
however,  but  of  relief  and  supreme  content. 

As  for  Althea,  she  had  yielded  to  Love's  first  supplica- 
tion as  instinctively  and  responsively  as  the  caged  bird 


28  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

yields  to  the  voice  that  calls  it  outward  and  speeds  it  on 
its  flight.  Could  the  human  bird  but  flee  on,  impelled  by 
the  same  blind  unquestioned  instinct  with  which  it  starts 
out,  life  and  love  would  be  simpler  things.  But  as  its 
fledgling-wings  strengthen,  and  their  small  span  widens, 
a  challenge  stays  its  flight :  "  Whither  bound,  O  bird  ! 
and  who  doth  show  thee  the  way  ?  "  And  if  the  bird  can 
answer,  "  Love  doth  show  me,  and  leadeth  me  to  Love's 
goal,"  it  may  fly  on,  indeed,  and  sing  while  flying ;  but 
if  it  answer  not  the  question,  knowing  that  Love  has 
failed  it,  then  its  song  dies,  and  its  flight  falters,  and 
down  from  the  open  it  sinks,  sore-smitten,  with  broken 
wing  and  heart. 

Althea's  marriage  did  not  prove  a  happy  one.  Short- 
ly after  the  birth  of  their  first  and  only  child,  it  was  re- 
marked that  George  Rounds's  ruddy  blond  face,  frank 
brown  eyes,  and  superfluity  of  yellow  whiskers  were  be- 
coming less  and  less  familiar  to  Newfield  eyes. 

"Those  dreadful  mines,"  explained  Althea,  with  a 
shrug  of  her  handsome  shoulders. 

Masculine  Newfield  admired  the  shoulders,  and  openly 
marvelled  that  George  Rounds  could  neglect  so  fine  a 
\woman.  Feminine  Newfield  sniffed  disparagingly,  and 
suggested  that  the  stereotyped  response  savored  rather  of 
evasion  than  of  truth.  As  George  himself  corroborated 
her,  however,  during  his  brief  and  infrequent  sojourns  at 
the  Ledge,  Althea's  position  was  speciously  invulnerable. 
The  fact  that  a  few  keen  eyes  were  unblinded  by  either 
her  evasion  or  its  corroboration,  failed  to  affect  it — or 
her. 

The  lonely  life  which  had  made  of  Althea,  at  one-and- 
twenty,  a  wife  and  mother,  had  made  of  her  younger  sis- 
ter, now  at  the  same  age,  only  a  wistful-eyed  dreamer ;  a 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  29 

singer  of  songs  in  which  Youth's  glad  note  thrilled  in- 
deed, but  with  the  subdued  supplicatory  cadence  heard 
in  the  matin-chants  of  vestal  voices  floating  from  the 
cloister-shrine.  Inheriting  her  father's  artistic  tastes  and 
dreamful,  sensitive  nature,  she  had  voluntarily  forced  into 
the  isolated  groove  of  his  recluse-life  her  glad  young 
years,  blind  to  the  pathos  of  her  repressed,  imprisoned 
youth,  to  the  certainty  that  though  the  girlhood  might  be 
submissive  the  womanhood  must  bring  new  needs,  new 
rights,  new  demands  with  it.  When,  a  year  after  Mar- 
maduke  Sterling's  death,  which  occurred  in  the  fourth 
year  of  Althea's  marriage,  to  Isolde's  bitter  pain  and  be- 
wilderment her  mother  remarried,  she  had  come  to  Al- 
thea,  a  pale,  pensive,  almost  saddened  young  creature, 
with  the  heart  of  a  child,  the  soul  of  a  woman,  the  brain 
of  a  poet  and  dreamer.  At  first  Althea  had  asked  of  the 
gods  what  to  do  with  her,  but  already  the  problem  was 
solving  itself.  The  sweet,  glad,  natural  instincts  common 
to  youth  and  girlhood  the  world  over,  asserted  them- 
selves, and  she  responded  as  spontaneously  and  blissfully 
as  the  flower  responds  to  the  air  and  sunshine,  as  the 
fledgling  bird  to  the  impulse  of  glad  young  wings.  Life 
opened  a  twofold  wonder  to  her,  Nature  and  Humanity 
The  mountains,  the  pines,  the  prairies,  every  unfolding 
leaf  of  budding  Nature  held  unutterable  glory  for  her  ; 
but  the  human  revelation  was  even  more  ecstatical,  be- 
cause more  sweet.  Every  man  was  a  revelation  of  the 
world  to  her  ;  every  little  child  a  revelation  of  heaven  ; 
every  woman  a  revelation  of  herself.  A  conventional 
and  conservative  society  would  have  violated  her  young 
soul's  solitude,  only  to  leave  it  more  solitary  than  before  ; 
but  the  simple,  cordial,  social  welcome  of  the  West, 
which  took  her  not  only  hand  in  hand,  but  heart  to  heart, 


30  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

stormed  her  shy  reserve  and  razed  its  walls  forever.  An 
intense  love  of  her  human  kind,  hitherto  uncompre- 
hended  and  repressed,  quickened  to  conscious,  rapturous, 
life  within  her.  Her  pulses  leaped ;  the  blood  coursed 
through  her  veins  with  new  impetus.  She  was  like  a 
flower  whose  petals,  shut  in  darkness,  bloom  forth  exult- 
antly at  the  first  ray  of  light. 

At  the  Ledge-gate  Althea  was  waiting — a  tall,  white 
statuesque  figure — a  Galatea  in  a  garden  niche. 

"  The  bank  crowd  caught  me,"  the  girl  explained,  as 
she  dismounted.  "  I  could  ride  neither  on  nor  back. 
For  an  hour  I  was  wedged  between  the  torches  and  the 
trumpets.  I  hope  that  you  have  not  been  anxious  about 
me,  Althea  ?  " 

There  was  an  unfamiliar  note  in  her  voice  that  did  not 
escape  her  sister.  It  suggested  an  excitement  which  her 
words  did  not  explain.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her 
eyes  luminous.  Althea  scanned  her  with  curious  eyes. 

Suddenly  she  laughed,  a  low  light  laugh  of  keen,  almost 
cruel  enjoyment. 

"You  look,"  she  said,  "like  a  girl — in — love." 

Isolde  turned  away  with  an  impatient  exclamation. 
1  The  light  words  jarred  upon  her.  How  vulgar  even  a 
fastidious  woman  like  Althea  could  be,  she  thought,  in- 
tolerantly. 

"  I  shall  be  down  in  a  moment,"  she  said,  running  up 
the  stairs.  "  My  habit  is  too  dusty  for  your  dainty  bou- 
doir, Althea." 

"Or  your  mood  too  exalted — which?"  asked  Althea, 
her  mocking  laughter  echoing  up  the  stairs. 

The  girl  twirled  about  and  faced  her.  She  looked  tall 
and  slender  in  her  plain,  close-fitting  habit,  whose  length 
had  curled  itself  about  her  feet.  One  gauntleted  hand 


A   SON  OF  ESAU.  31 

rested  upon  the  baluster.  In  the  other  she  held  her 
riding-crop.  Her  lips,  naturally  sweet  of  curve,  were 
curled  in  an  half-indignant,  half-disdainful  expression,  but 
above  them  shone  her  eyes'  shy,  mute  appeal. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Althea?  "  she  asked. 

Althea  had  the  intuition  of  a  good  soldier.  She  knew 
when  to  retreat. 

"I  mean  that  it  is  nearly  midnight,  you  dissipated 
child,"  she  said,  "  and  that  a  syllabub  of  Jersey  cream, 
mixed  by  my  own  fair  hands,  awaits  you.  Make  haste, 
my  dear,  or  all  the  old  Grundies  in  town  will  be  after 
us.  A  light  after  ten  o'clock  is  a  scandal,  in  Newfield." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  be  down  immediately,"  replied 
Isolde,  turning  away  with  a  perplexed  sigh.  Althea  was 
a  problem.  She  sought  in  vain  to  solve  her. 

A  night-lamp  was  burning  on  a  stand  by  her  bed.  She 
lifted  it  to  the  toilet-table,  and  scanned  her  face  by  its 
gentle  light,  in  the  little  muslin-draped  mirror. 

"  She  said — that  I  looked  like — a  girl — in — love  !  "  she 
murmured.  The  flush  in  her  soft  cheeks  deepened.  She 
felt,  its  thrill  and  glow,  and  caught  the  star-like  radiance 
of  her  lustrous  eyes.  She  gazed  at  the  fair  reflection, 
breathlessly.  Did  Love's  vague,  translucent  likeness  lurk 
indeed  within  it  —  Love  the  beautiful,  Love  the  un- 
known ?  Her  virgin  face  veiled  itself  in  her  white  hands. 

The  room  below,  in  its  decoration  and  equipment,  was 
a  white  and  gold  room  pre-eminently.  Fair,  reposeful 
Althea,  with  her  golden  hair  and  trailing  white  garments, 
seemed  a  component  part  of  it.  Isolde  supplied  the 
needed  touch  of  color  as  she  entered.  Her  blonde  beauty 
was  of  more  vivid  type  than  her  sister's,  and  she  had 
donned  a  rose-tinted  tea-gown,  whose  flowing  draperies 
gave  gleams  and  glints  of  glowing  ruby-tints.  Althea  left 


32  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

the  room,  as  she  entered  it.  She  walked  to  the  hearth,  on 
which  the  smallest  of  wood-fires  was  burning  out,  and, 
clasping  her  hands  on  the  low  mantel,  looked  musingly 
into  the  flames. 

At  a  casual  glance  one  would  have  pronounced  her  tall. 
Her  semblance  of  height  was  due,  however,  to  the  grace- 
ful erectness  of  her  carriage,  and  to  the  stately  poise  of 
her  head.  Her  face,  small  and  clear-cut  in  feature,  was 
delicately  oval,  and  wrapped  in  a  pure,  bright,  virginal 
pallor,  as  a  vestal  in  her  veil.  Her  throat,  disclosed  by 
the  low  gown,  was  full  and  soft,  like  a  young  dove's 
breast.  Her  eyes,  deep  violet  in  color,  were  wide  and 
liquid,  and  heavily  fringed  with  lashes  shades  darker  than 
her  hair,  which  was  bronze  in  shadow,  golden-brown  in 
the  light,  rippling  back  in  natural  waves  from  a  broad, 
pure  brow.  Her  mouth,  curled  like  a  rose-petal,  was 
fresh  and  red  as  a  little  child's.  In  its  sweetness  and  in- 
nocence the  expression  of  her  face,  too,  was  childlike  ;  but 
the  face,  in  spite  of  its  youth,  was  not  immature.  Through 
the  transparent  veil  of  the  fair  young  flesh  shone  a  pure, 
tender,  and  earnest  woman-soul. 

Althea,  returning  with  a  dainty  tele-^-tUe  service,  ar- 
ranged on  a  small  salver,  sunk  into  a  rocker  by  the  hearth- 
stone, and  sipped  her  syllabub  at  ease.  Her  white  gown 
trailed  like  snow  beside  her.  Her  smile,  in  its  cold  glit- 
ter, repeated  the  suggestion. 

" About  the  evening ?"  she  inquired.  "The  ride  was 
not  all.  You  were  at  the  bank-opening  ?  " 

"  Yes !  in  attempting  to  ride  past  the  crowd  I  rode  into 
it — a  happy  accident  for  me.  I  would  not  have  missed 
the  scene  for  anything.  It  was  splendid.  Picturesque, 
dramatic,  Olympian  !  " 

"The  Olympic  god    being  Harriman,  junior,  I    sup- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  33 

pose ?"  remarked  Althea.  "How  did  he — look?  What 
did  he — say  ?  " 

"  The  young  banker  ?  He  looked  king-like.  And  he 
said  such  words  as  only  a  king  of  men  could  say.  He 
told  them  that  his  faith  with  them  was  his  faith  with  him- 
self— that  no  man  meant  to  break  such  faith — that  never- 
theless men  did  break  it — that  he  was  no  stronger  than 
the  rest.  He  warned  them  of  the  risk.  Kisk  !  even  his 
voice  disproved  it — his  true,  strong  voice,  ringing  from 
his  time  strong  soul !  " 

"I — hear — it !  "  murmured  Althea. 

The  girl  nestled  closer  to  her,  clasping  caressing  hands 
about  her  knee. 

"  It  was  grand,  heroic,  godlike  ! "  she  said.  "  There 
was  something  so  fine  about  it,  Althea — his  admission  of 
possible  weakness,  his  appeal  for  strength  and  help.  But 
the  few  who  understood  did  not  appreciate  it.  I  heard 
one  man  say  that  he  was  a  fool  for  his  pains.  Noblesse 
obliged  him,  but  they  did  not  know  it.  His  divine  soul 
cried  out  to  them — they  heard  only  his  human  voice !  " 

"  His  human  voice  is  divine,"  whispered  Althea,  to  the 
fire. 

Isolde  did  not  heed  her.  She  was  engrossed  in  her 
own  tender  thoughts. 

"All  his  life,"  she  said,  "has  been  but  the  prelude  ; 
to-night  his  real  life  begins.  A  man's  life  must  be  such 
a  great,  grand  thing,  Althea.  A  woman's  life  is  sweet 
and  tender  and  beautiful,  but  it  lacks  the  power  of  the 
man's.  A  good  woman  may  live  and  die,  and  only  God 
be  the  wiser  ;  but  a  good  man  is  like  a  meteor — his  life 
illumines  both  earth  and  sky,  and  its  golden  trail  lives 
after  him." 

"An   example,"    sneered    Althea,    "of    the    beautiful 


3±  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

justice  of  the  unknown  quantity  called  by  the  orthodox 
Divine  Providence.  All  men  are  gods.  A  woman,  at 
highest,  can  be  only  a  Mary — a  Mary,  to  serve  and — 
suffer  !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sigh 
of  the  wind,  and  the  gasp  of  the  flickering  fire.  The  girl 
pressed  closer  to  her  sister's  knee  and  shuddered. 

"  To  suffer  !  "  she  said.  "  It  sounds  so  terrible,  Althea. 
Sometimes  when  I  wake  in  the  night,  I  think  of  it — of  all 
the  suffering  of  God's  poor  creatures  in  just  that  single 
little  hour.  I  think  of  the  helpless  anguish  of  the  dumb 
creation — of  the  traps  in  the  forest,  the  shots  in  the 
jungle,  the  knives  in  the  slaughter-house,  the  snares  in 
the  trees.  I  think  of  the  live-stock,  bruised  and  spent, 
parched  and  starved  and  stifled,  in  the  torture-pens  on 
the  railroad  ;  of  the  droves  forced  hither  and  thither  by 
lash  and  prod  ;  of  the  cattle  writhing  under  the  branding- 
iron,  and  the  racers  bleeding  from  bit  and  spur.  I  think 
of  the  animals  quivering  on  the  vivisection-table  ;  of  the 
beasts  of  burden  straining,  panting,  shuddering  under 
goad  and  whip.  I  think  of  the  awful  throe  of  universal 
human  anguish — of  the  women  moaning  in  childbirth ; 
of  the  waifs  of  the  slums,  hungry  and  cold  and  beaten  ;  of 
the  girl  decoyed  to  the  dive,  and  the  boy  to  the  wine  and 
dice — of  the  plunge  of  the  girl  in  the  river,  and  the  shot 
of  the  boy  through  the  heart.  I  think  of  the  stab  of  the 
assassin  and  the  blow  of  the  murderer  ;  of  the  stifled  cry 
of  the  victim,  and  the  thud  of  the  lifeless  body  on  the 
ground.  I  think  of  the  watchers  at  the  windows,  of  the 
staggering  steps  that  near  them,  of  the  horror  of  blows 
and  curses,  and  the  trample  of  unborn  children  under  the 
rum-mad  feet.  I  think  of  the  beds  of  pain  in  the  hos- 
pitals, of  the  surgical-rooms  with  their  knives  and  tables, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  35 

of  the  death-wards  and  their  agonies  of  flesh  and  spirit, 
their  impotent  struggles,  their  terror,  their  despair.  I 
think  of  the  jails  and  prisons,  of  the  men  and  women 
herded  like  beasts  ;  of  the  suicide  dead  in  his  cell,  of  the 
murderer  who  looks  on  his  gallows.  I  think  of  the 
asylums — of  the  hopeless  blind,  the  helpless  cripples  ;  of 
the  dumb  who  strain  to  speak,  of  the  deaf  who  yearn  to 
hear  ;  of  the  mad,  and  their  shrieks  and  shudders,  as  the 
whip  sinks  curling  and  hissing  into  the  tortured  flesh.  I 
think  of  the  ship  going  down  in  the  ocean  ;  of  the  train 
crashing  over  the  trestles  ;  of  the  dwelling  gutted  by  fire  ; 
and  the  death-throes  of  all  three.  I  think  of  the  Jugger- 
naut wheel  of  human  mental  agony,  of  the  faith  and  hope 
of  youth,  and  their  slow,  hard,  cruel  death  ;  of  its  unful- 
filled dreams,  its  unsated  desires,  its  disappointed  am- 
bitions, its  unwon  goals.  I  think  of  the  brave  endeavors 
of  earnest  manhood,  and  of  life's  long,  bitter  lesson  of 
defeat.  I  think  of  love,  unreciprocated,  betrayed,  bereft ; 
of  loss,  of  loneliness,  of  heartache,  of  heartbreak.  I  think 
of  remorse  for  wrongs  and  follies  irreparable,  of  wild  de- 
fiance born  thereof,  and  of  final,  mad  despair.  I  think  of 
the  struggle  of  souls  with  the  tempter,  of  the  groping  for 
God  through  the  darkness,  of  the  cry  to  God  through 
the  silence,  of  the  blind  who  do  not  see  Him,  and  the  deaf 
who  do  not  hear.  I  think  of  the  souls  snatched  in  their 
sins,  and  hurled  to  the  judgment ;  of  the  unpurged  shut 
in  their  prisons  of  fire,  of  the  lost  souls  in  eternal  hell. 
And  I  shrink  and  shudder,  and  cower  down  in  bed — I 
am  only  a  coward,  Althea  ! — dreading  the  time  when  my 
turn,  too,  shall  come,  and  flesh  and  spirit  bear  their  share 
of  the  universal  pain." 

Althea  rose  with  a  shiver. 

"  Go  to  bed,  you  horrible  child  !  "  she  said.     "  Great 


36  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

heavens,  what  hideous  thoughts!  What  put  them  into 
your  innocent  young  head  ?  " 

"I  scarcely  know,"  said  the  girl.  "They  come,  some- 
times." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  breast,  sighing  wearily. 

"Something  in  here  tells  me  everything,"  she  said; 
"  everything  of  sin  and  sorrow,  of  life,  and  love,  and 
death.  I  think  that  humanity  must  be  like  one  great 
Eolian  harp,  Althea.  A  breath  on  the  single  string  wakens 
common  vibration." 

She  was  very  pale  as  she  rose.  Her  lips,  as  she  kissed 
her  sister,  were  tremulous  ;  her  eyes  heavy  with  unshed 
tears. 

"  An  example,"  mused  Althea,  looking  after  her,  "  of 
the  sin  of  the  father  visited  upon  his  child.  Poor,  little, 
morbid,  tender-hearted  fool !  There  is  only  one  cure  for 
her.  She  must  dream  love's  dream — and  waken." 

Upon  her  lips  played  a  sudden  smile.  Not  of  tender- 
ness for  the  girl's  love-dream  !  She  smiled  for  the  sure 
awakening. 

She  turned  down  the  lamp  till  its  light  was  but  a  tiny 
spark,  and  sunk  down  by  the  dying  fire.  Its  flickering 
flames,  fanned  by  a  swirl  of  wind  down  the  chimney, 
writhed  up  to  meet  her.  She  held  her  large  white  hands 
toward  them,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  their  fitful  glow.  Thus 
she  had  watched  out  many  a  midnight  vigil ;  thus  she 
would  watch  out  one  now. 

The  strong  night-wind  was  rising.  It  swelled  and 
soughed  from  its  mountain-cave  like  waves  from  a  sono- 
rous sea.  The  boughs  of  the  cottonwoods  rustled,  and  the 
young  grass  stirred  as  if  the  train  of  a  phantom-garment 
swept  it.  In  the  hall  a  clock  ticked  loudly — a  great  old- 
fashioned  thing,  with  a  pendulum  that  clicked  between 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  37 

its  ticks,  swaying  to  and  fro  in  its  worn  old  case.  From 
an  inner  room  came  the  sound  of  a  sleeping  child's  deep 
breathing.  Peaceful  sounds,  all  of  them,  monotonic  voices 
of  the  night,  blending  in  sweet  lullaby  and  benediction 
with  the  dream  of  the  innocent  child,  and  the  prayer  of 
the  girl  up-stairs.  But  they  brought  no  peace  to  Althea. 
A  restless  mood  was  on  her.  Thoughts  whirled  like  wheels 
of  fire  through  her  brain — thoughts  of  a  wasted  past,  of 
an  empty  present,  of  a  future  from  which  she  shrunk  in 
doubt  and  dread  ! 

A  wind-wave  broke  outside.  Its  invisible  spray  dashed 
sharply  against  the  pane.  She  sprung  to  her  feet  and 
listened.  Had  some  one  tapped  on  the  pane  ?  No,  the 
wind  swept  on,  and  the  night  resumed  its  silence.  The 
tick  of  the  clock  was  the  only  sound — and  the  sleeping 
child's  deep  breathing. 

The  cruel  smile  was  still  on  her  lips  as  she  went  back 
to  her  reverie.  Yes,  Isolde  must  dream  her  dream  of 
love,  and  waken !  Who  should  hold  her  the  love-dream — 
the  dream  to  which  the  reality  is  what  the  desert  is  to  the 
mirage  ?  Any  man,  one  as  well  as  another !  What  did  it 
matter  ? 

In  an  open  case  on  the  mantel  stood  a  porcelain  por- 
trait of  her  husband — a  strong,  fair  man,  with  the  soft 
brown  eyes  of  a  girl,  and  the  mouth  of  a  man  and  master. 
She  took  it  down  and  scanned  it  with  uutender  eyes,  by 
the  light  of  the  dying  fire.  Then  she  replaced  it  with  a 
scornful  shrug. 

"  Any  man  would  have  done  as  well,"  she  murmured. 
"  Almost  any  man  would  have  done  better.  After  all,  it 
is  not  the  lover,  but  the  love  of  the  lover,  that  counts." 

The  clock  in  the  hall  ticked  louder.  Its  voice  seemed 
to  echo  up  the  stairs  as  if  it,  too,  were  thinking  of  Isolde. 


38  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Who  should  hold  her  the  love-dream  ?  Althea  was  asking. 
Who  ?  who  ?  who  ?  ticked  the  clock. 

Of  a  sudden  her  thoughts  reverted  to  a  word  of  Isolde's. 
The  mad  old  clock  caught  it  up,  and  reiterated  it  louder 
and  louder  through  the  silence  of  the  night. 

"  It  was  grand,  heroic,  godlike,  Althea !  "  Godlike  ! — 
that  was  the  word.  Only  one  man  is  ever  godlike  to  a 
woman.  Already  he  was  this  to  her. 

She  dragged  herself  to  her  feet,  slowly  and  heavily,  and 
walking  to  the  window,  opened  it  and  leaned  out.  The 
midnight  moon  was  waning.  The  world  looked  wan  and 
ghastly  in  its  pallid  light.  The  town  was  shrouded  in 
shadows.  Only  an  occasional  light  wavered  from  its 
dark  expanse,  as  a  last  pale  taper  flickers  from  a  bier. 
The  Ledge-road  swept  to  the  right,  whence  it  whirled 
suddenly  southward,  cutting  a  straight  course  to  the 
Freshet  cross-roads.  A  faint  ray  of  light  glimmering 
from  the  Freshet  cabin  pierced  the  darkness.  She  looked 
at  it  long  and  fixedly. 

"  If  it  were  not  for — that ! "  she  murmured.  "If  it 
were  not  for — that !  " 

The  wind  ruffled  her  smooth  hair  and  blew  back  the 
lace  from  her  throat.  It  was  chill  and  damp  with  the 
damp  of  dews  and  the  chill  of  the  ghastful  hour.  She 
shivered,  but  she  did  not  know  it.  She  was  thinking, 
thinking. 

Suddenly  she  laughed,  a  low,  hard,  bitter  laugh,  which 
the  wind  caught  up  and  echoed. 

"  In  a  man's  love  there  is  always  an  '  if '  for  the  woman 
to  face," she  thought.  "Wh'ether  this  'if  or  another — 
what  matters  it?" 

She  turned  back  to  the  porcelain  portrait,  bending  a 
long,  still  look  upon  it — not  of  tender,  wifely  love,  in- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  39 

deed  ;  yet  a  softened  look  of  piteous  womanly  protest 
and  appeal.  If  George  had  seen  it — 

If  !  if !  if  !  ticked  the  clock. 

But  even  as  she  looked,  she  was  again  the  calm,  impas- 
sive, imperturbable  Althea  the  world  knew  her. 

Galatea,  for  the  moment  a  woman,  had  resumed  her 
marble  mask. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    SHAKESPEARE    CLUB    GIVES    A    DANCE. 

Between  the  young  banker  and  the  Ledge  mistress,  in 
the  earlier  days  of  her  married  life,  there  had  waxed  an 
intimacy  which,  unfortunately  for  Althea,  her  husband  did 
not  share.  The  two  men  were  antipathetic  to  each  other 
by  nature.  The  one  distrusted,  the  other  resented  the 
distrust ;  and  "from  such  background  of  masculine  un- 
friendliness the  young  wife's  wilful  coquetry  stood  out  in 
over-bold  relief.  Like  Newfield  eyes,  Newfield  tongues 
were  censorious,  and  as  the  eyes  watched,  the  tongues 
prated.  At  one  time,  in  truth,  it  had  been  whispered 
that  Steele  Harriman's  presence  at  the  Ledge  was  the 
secret  of  George  Bound's  absence  from  it  The  gossip, 
however,  died  a  natural  death  ;  the  censured  intimacy 
waning,  eventually,  like  a  flame  that  had  burned  itself 
out.  Nor  had  Isolde's  arrival  at  the  Ledge  served  to  re- 
vive it. 

True,  on  an  evening  shortly  after  the  girl's  advent,  the 
young  banker,  clad  in  faultless  evening  attire,  had  de- 
scended at  the  Ledge-gate  from  the  handsomest  equipage 
of  the  Harriman  stables,  and  left  a  couple  of  irreproach- 
able cards  for  the  ladies,  absent  at  the  time.  This  social 
duty  done,  and  correctly  done,  he  had  rested  on  his  lau- 
rels ;  not,  it  must  be  confessed,  without  a  chagrined  sur- 
prise that  he  was  allowed  to  rest  upon  them.  He  had  felt 
convinced  that  in  bringing  her  sister  to  the  Ledge,  Althea 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  41 

had  not  been  innocent  of  an  ulterior  motive  connected 
with  himself.  As  after-events  seemed  to  cast  a  doubt 
upon  the  truth  of  this  conviction,  he  felt  not  only  cha- 
grined, but  what  was  far  worse,  humiliated.  He  had  been 
at  pains  to  evince  his  indifference,  and  Althea,  in  showing 
him  that  his  pains  were  superfluous,  had  placed  him  at 
an  ignominious,  because  ridiculous,  disadvantage.  While 
her  apparent  unconcern  baffled,  it  did  not  deceive  him, 
however.  Althea's  quiescence  was  always  ominous.  He 
likened  it  to  the  delusive  calm  that  presages  the  storm. 

Somewhat  late  on  the  evening  of  the  semi-annual  dance 
of  the  Newfield  Shakespeare  Club,  the  young  banker  was 
lounging  in  the  vicinity  of  the  club-house,  through  whose 
windows  floated  the  strains  of  a  gay  dance-tune,  when  the 
Ledge  carriage  passed  him  and  drew  up  at  the  club-house 
entrance.  As  Althea,  followed  by  Isolde,  disappeared  up 
the  long  stairway,  a  sudden  whim  seized  him  to  follow. 
He  had  ridden  out  to  the  mine-district  that  afternoon, 
dressed  for  a  descent  into  one  of  the  subterranean  drifts 
of  an  abandoned  mine,  and  had  dined  at  the  hotel  on  his 
way  back,  in  the  same  rough  costume.  He  looked  him- 
self over,  from  his  tweed  jacket  buttoned  over  a  flannel 
shirt,  to  the  top-boots  whose  vamps  still  bore  testimony 
to  the  sand  and  soil  through  which  he  had  passed.  He 
flicked  them  with  his  handkerchief,  and  then,  flinging 
away  his  cigar,  strode  up  the  club-stairs.  His  indifference 
to  the  Eastern  girl's  opinion  of  his  attire,  his  indepen- 
dence, his  open  defiance  of  it,  seemed  to  him,  in  that  mo- 
ment of  resolution,  a  proud  and  manly  thing. 

The  scene  of  the  dance  was  the  assembly-room  of  a 
literary  and  social  association  known  as  the  Newfield 
Shakespeare  Club — a  large  square  apartment  which,  with 
its  ante-rooms,  occupied  the  third  floor  of  the  Newfield 


42  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Club-house,  recently  erected  and  opened  by  unscrupu- 
lous speculators  for  the  demoralization  of  masculine  New- 
fielders,  according  to  the  most  insidious  and  seductive 
methods  of  Eastern  precedents.  The  cafe  and  bar  of  the 
first  floor  were  supplemented,  on  the  second,  by  card,  bill- 
ard,  and  reading-rooms,  luxurious  in  appointments,  and 
alluring  alike  to  the  bachelors  and  benedicts  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  opposition  of  the  club  members  to  the 
lease  of  any  portion  of  the  house  to  the  Shakespeare  Club, 
which  was  exclusively  feminine  in  its  constitution,  had 
been  both  strong  and  bitter ;  nevertheless  the  opposed 
had  won  the  day.  The  result  was  an  unhappy  one,  the 
single  stairway  dividing  the  rival  clubs  not  infrequently 
proving  an  insufficient  barrier  between  the  midnight  rev- 
eller and  his  waiting  better-half,  upon  whose  exasperated 
ears  snatches  of  song  and  laughter,  floating  from  the  floor 
below,  smote  only  less  provokingly  than  certain  tell-tale 
fumes  upon  the  feminine  nostrils,  which,  like  Job's  war- 
horse,  "scented  from  afar."  Between  the  clubs  there 
waged,  in  consequence,  bitter  and  open  war.  The  hatchet 
was  buried  for  mutual  benefit,  however,  on  such  festive 
social  occasions  as  the  present,  when  the  members  of  both 
clubs  were  accustomed  to  meet  in  common  truce.  As  a 
formal  invitation  affair,  from  which  the  uninvited  majority 
were  rigorously  excluded,  the  Shakespeare  Club  Dance 
was  looked  upon  as  an  important  social  event.  All  the  iu- 
•'vited  accepted.  All  the  uninvited  resented  the  slight  more 
or  less  actively,  as  opportunity  permitted.  The  youthful 
representatives  of  the  ostracized,  indeed,  furious  at  their 
exclusion  from  an  entertainment  which  presupposed  un- 
limited supplies  of  ice-cream,  cake,  and  like  luscious  es- 
culents, made  their  own  opportunity  ;  and  gathering  with 
tin  pans,  sticks,  and  fish-horns  upon  the  sidewalk,  pro- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU:  43 

ceeded  to  treat  the  club  to  such  a  deafening  shiveree,  as 
was  nipped  in  the  unmelodious  bud  only  by  persistent 
applications  of  the  club-house  hose.  This  little  incident, 
however,  only  added  to  the  general  hilarity. 

Upon  the  platform  at  the  end  of  the  hall  stood  the 
piano,  beside  which  capered  an  enthusiastic  violinist, 
whose  arm  was  less  active  in  marking  the  tempo  of  the 
dance-tune  than  were  his  head  and  legs.  The  floor  was 
crowded  with  dancers.  Bound  them  sauntered  a  double 
file  of  promenaders,  cutting  off  all  view  from  the  mature 
matrons  ranged  in  rows  around  the  room.  One  and  all, 
these  were  garbed  in  their  best  black  silks,  and  likewise 
(the  association  being  inseparable),  in  irreproachable  com- 
pany-manners. Their  facial  expression  was  one  of  elegant 
placidity.  Their  lips  wore  a  serene  smile.  Their  lace- 
mitted  or  silk-gloved  hands  were  neatly  folded  on  their 
laps.  The  matronal  necks  were  chastely  veiled  by  wide 
lace  collars,  ornamented  by  miniature  glass-coffins,  en- 
closing ghastly  daguerreotypes  or  lifeless  locks  of  hair. 
The  younger  matrons  were  frisking  through  the  dance. 
They  belonged  to  a  generation  which  is  nothing  if  not 
progressive.  Matrimony  had  added  to,  not  taken  from 
their  "  rights."  In  dress,  in  dash  of  manner,  in  dance,  in 
chat,  in  flirtation,  they  cast  the  maidens,  young  and  old, 
into  deepest  shade.  Only  the  widows  were  their  rivals. 
These  trailed  their  weeds  through  the  "Squares"  with 
pensive  coquetry.  The  coquetry  was  of  the  present ;  the 
pensiveness  a  tribute  to  the  dear,  but  defunct  past.  The 
assertion  that  one  live  man  is  better  than  ten  dead  ones 
is  a  libel  on  human  nature,  which  widowhood  disproves. 
Ten  live  men,  nay,  ten  times  ten,  are  inadequate  to  fill 
the  yawning  vacuum  left  by  one  man  dead  ! 

As  the  young  banker  entered  the  hall,  Isolde  was  tak- 


44  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

ing  her  place  in  a  set,  smiling  over  her  shoulder  at  a 
couple  of  importunate  rivals  for  her  future  favor.  Althea, 
the  central  figure  of  an  attractive  group  standing  by  one 
of  the  windows,  was  superciliously  overlooking  the  rest 
of  the  company  through  the  lenses  of  an  antique  silver 
lorgnette.  Her  appearances  in  Newfield  society  were  few 
and  far  between,  and  usually  even  these  were  repented  as 
soon  as  made.  To-night,  however,  she  did  not  regret 
that  she  had  come.  She  had  contrived  to  enter  the 
room  with  ex-Senator  Bushing,  of  Nebraska,  and  as  one 
of  his  distinguished  party,  was  enabled  to  look  down 
from  a  pleasing  political  and  social  eminence  upon  New- 
field  citizens.  Moreover,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs. 
Rushing,  whose  velvet  robe,  as  she  wore  it,  was  a  queenly 
garment — hers  was  by  far  the  most  elegant  costume  in 
the  room.  It  was  of  soft  gray  cloth,  ornamented  by  a 
Cleopatra  girdle  of  antique  silver  ;  and  her  capote  of 
silver  filigree  was  bordered  with  violets.  White,  gray, 
black,  purple,  the  mourning  colors  —  these  only  had 
Althea  permitted  herself  to  wear  since  her  husband's 
defection !  She  felt  an  artistic  sense  of  satisfaction  in 
confining  herself  to  them.  They  were  delicately  sugges- 
tive of  a  penitential  spirit.  Moreover,  they  were  surpass- 
ingly becoming. 

As  Steele  made  his  way  toward  her,  he  surprised  a  flash 
of  recognition  in  her  eyes  which  belied  her  apparent  un- 
consciousness of  his  approach.  As  he  reached  her,  the 
press  of  promenaders  suddenly  separated  her  from  her 
companions.  He  smiled  at  the  opportune  accident.  Al- 
thea's  little  ruses  still  amused  him. 

"  At  last ! "  he  said,  as  he  took  the  hand  which  she 
yielded  rather  than  offered  him.  "  It  has  been  a  question 
of  '  When  shall  we  two  meet  again  ? '  with  us,  of  late." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  45 

"  Yes  ?  "  queried  Althea,  languidly,  as  she  readjusted 
her  lorgnette.  "  A  pleasant  evening." 

He  had  been  prepared  for  her  resentment,  but  not  for 
her  smiling  indifference.  He  did  not  know  how  to  take 
it.  He  shifted  from  foot  to  foot,  glowering  at  her  with 
discomfited  eyes.  Hang  the  woman  ;  what  did  she  mean  ? 
Months  had  elapsed  since  they  had  met ;  and  she  talked 
to  him — she,  to  him — about  the  weather  ! 

"Really  it  has  not  been  half  my  fault,"  he  began. 
"  Bank  matters  have  engrossed  me,  and " 

He  had  made  the  masculine  mistake  of  accusing,  in 
excusing  himself.  A  woman  forgives  a  man  anything, 
everything,  save  the  slight  confessed.  Her  low  laugh 
interrupted  him.  There  was  a  note  of  insolent  amuse- 
ment in  it,  under  which  he  flushed  resentfully. 

"Society  in  Newfield,"  she  said,  "is,  thanks  be  for 
small  favors,  a  collective  noun.  Heaven  forbid  that  one 
should  parse  it  in  the  singular  !  And  Newfield  society 
has  been,  alas  ! — er — social  as  usual.  Until  this  moment 
I  was  not  aware  that  the  individual  Newfielder  had  neg- 
lected me.  How  shall  I  punish  him  ?  " 

How  ruthlessly  she  had  punished  him  already,  his  face 
told  her. 

Suddenly  her  careless  smile  changed  to  an  expression 
even  less  flattering.  Her  lorgnette,  lowered  for  a  mo- 
ment, was  relifted. 

"  Really !  "  she  exclaimed,  when  the  scrutiny  to  which 
she  had  subjected  him  was  ended. 

He  seized  two  chairs  vacated  at  the  moment,  and  drew 
them  into  a  vacant  corner.  Not  until  he  was  seated  by 
her  side,  did  he  betray  that  he  had  heard  her. 

"  Really — what  ?  "  he  asked  then. 

"Really  worth  an  inventory.     Collar,  conspicuous  for 


46  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

its  absence.  Item,  a  becoming  but  inappropriate  pea- 
jacket  ;  item,  a  picturesque  flannel  shirt ;  item,  <*  cowboy- 
belt,  with  dirk,  pistol,  and  flask  attachments.  Ac  ^  whole, 
not  bad — for  a  masquerade.  And  what  social  assemblage 
is  either  more  or  less  than  a  masquerade  ? — though  we 
seldom  wear  our  masks  quite  frankly.  Costume  aside, 
your  presence  here  is  an  unexpected  honor.  Newfield 
must  have  become  a  very  abomination  of  desolation  to 
have  driven  you  to  the  Shakespeare  Club,  to  escape  it." 

"  Bather  to  seek  it.  I  have  not  seen  much  of  Newfield 
social  life  lately,  and  was  inspired  to  renew  the  acquaint- 
ance. It  looks  about  the  same  old  thing,"  he  added. 
"The  Misses  Hunter  are  still  on  the  scent,  I  see  ;  and 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Liunett  still  plume  themselves  and  twitter 
away,  in  characteristic  fashion.  So  the  Bushings  are 
down  from  Nebraska?  They  come  in  honor  of  Bill's 
handsome  bride,  of  course  ;  but  Newfield  takes  the  honor 
to  itself,  and  a  local  boom  for  Bill,  financial  and  political, 
is  assured.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  wish  the  po- 
litical flood-tide  would  dislodge  his  financial  anchor.  With- 
out him  the  slow  old  'National '  could  not  stand  against 
me.  '  Talk  of  the  devil ' — here  he  comes,  with  all  his  sur- 
rounding angels !  Mrs.  Bushing,  take  my  chair.  Senator, 
how  goes  Nebraska?  Bill,  I  think  I  have  not  yet  con- 
gratulated you.  Words  are  inadequate  to  express  my  envy 
of  his  good  fortune,  Mrs.  Bushing ;  hence  my  delay." 

The  bride  smiled  and  blushed.  The  groom,  a  robust 
young  man  with  an  intellectual  head  and  a  soldierly  car- 
riage, looked  proud  and  happy. 

"  If  this  designing  young  woman  had  not  decoyed  me 
from  the  ranks  of  eligibles,  Mrs.  Bounds,"  he  said,  "  Jack 
Holbrook  should  not  be  having  things  all  his  own  way 
with  your  charming  sister  to-night." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  47 

"It  strikes  me  that  my  charming  sister  is  having  things 
all  her  own  way,"  corrected  Althea,  with  a  gratified 
glance  toward  Isolde,  besieged  by  admirers  in  the  inter- 
lude of  the  dance. 

"  Mrs.  Rounds's  amendment  is  accepted,"  avowed 
Steele,  with  a  bow  in  Isolde's  direction.  "  Mrs.  Rush- 
ing, will  you  not  say  as  much  in  favor  of  my  chair  ?  " 

"  Trains  forbid,"  remonstrated  her  husband.  "  Ours 
leaves  in  an  hour,  and  she  has  yet  to  change  her  gown, 
and  all  that." 

Mrs.  Rushing  confessed  to  the  change  of  gown,  but 
proclaimed  the  "  all  that "  to  be  a  libel.  "  We  give  a 
politic — why  are  you  frowning,  Dick? — of  course  I  mean 
a  political  dinner,  to-morrow  night,"  she  explained,  "  at 
which  I  hoped  Nellie  would  keep  me  in  countenance  ; 
but  she  cruelly  refuses  to  return  with  us.  She  comes 
from  Kansas,  you  know,  and  looks  down  on  Nebraskan 
politics.  The  geographical  fact  that  she  should  look 
up  to  them,  goes  for  nothing  with  her.  She  reserves 
her  attitude  toward  Colorado  politics  till  Bill  enters 
them." 

"  Is  this  woman  the  consort  of  a  loyal  citizen  of  the. 
United  States  ?  "  demanded  the  ex-Senator,  with  a  tragical 
clutch  at  his  hair. 

"The  Dis-united  States,  I  insist,"  laughed  Mrs.  Rush- 
ing, making  her  adieux. 

The  happy  party  passed  on.  Althea's  eyes  followed 
them. 

"Mrs.  Rushing,"  she  remarked,  "  is  a  typical  American 
woman.  No  position  she  may  attain  will  be  too  exalted 
for  her.  She  would  enter  the  White  House  with  the  same 
graceful  self-possession  with  which  she  now  makes  her 
exit  from  Newfield's  club-room.  And  speaking  of  the 


48  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

White  House,  rumor  says  that  the  Bushing  political  pos- 
sibilities are  unbounded.  What  are  they  ?  " 

Steele  smiled  at  the  womanly  question.  Evidently  the 
instant  elucidation  of  subtle  political  problems  presented 
no  more  difficulty  to  her  feminine  mind  than  the  enum- 
eration of  so  many  gilded  buttons. 

"  O,  they  scarcely  reach  the  White  House  yet,  I  think  ! " 
he  answered.  "  But  Rushing  has  brain  as  well  as  wealth, 
power  as  well  as  popularity.  The  Governorship  will  be 
his  undoubtedly,  if  he  consents  to  the  nomination." 

"If  he  consents?" 

"  He  has  other  irons,  golden  ones,  in  the  fire." 

"He  will  sacrifice  wealth  to  position." 

"It  is  possible." 

"It  is  certain.     He  is  an  American." 

"  Which,  quite  evidently,  you  are  not." 

"I?    O,  /am — a  woman  !  " 

The  quadrille  ended.  As  Isolde  left  the  floor,  escorted 
by  a  blond  young  man  whose  smiling  blue  eyes,  like 
miniature  heavens,  beamed  impartially  on  everything  and 
everybody  within  their  range  of  vision,  Steele  rose  and 
made  a  feint  of  turning  away,  but  Althea  chose  to  detain 
him.  She  dropped  her  lorgnette,  and  before  he  could 
extricate  it  from  entangling  feminine  draperies,  the  girl 
had  reached  them.  She  wore  a  Grecian  gown  of  unre- 
lieved white,  and  her  hair,  innocent  of  bang  or  crimp,  was 
drawn  back  from  her  forehead  in  a  simple  Psyche  knot. 
Every  eye  in  the  room  was  fixed  upon  her.  She  felt  rather 
than  heard,  the  criticisms  that  followed  her. 

"She  hasn't  a  bit  of  style,"  decided  Miss  Milly  Hunter, 
a  dashing  damsel  whose  forehead  and  temples,  even  to 
eyebrows  and  ears,  were  hidden  by  a  mass  of  frizzes  under 
which  her  sharp  little  eyes  snapped  like  a  watchful  fer- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  49 

ret's.  Her  slight,  active  figure  bristled  with  fluttering 
ribbons,  reminding  one  of  an  animated  May-pole.  Her 
sister  was  her  younger  duplicate  and  echo. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  style,"  repeated  Cilly. 

"  Nor  manner !  "  languished  Miss  Caroline  Linnett,  to 
whom  manner  and  affectation  were  synonymous.  "And, 
as  Ma  says,  manner  is  the  hand  marking  on  the  social 
dial  the  degrees  between  the  lady  and  the — the " 

"Tiger?  "  suggested  a  tall,  lank,  spectacled  young  man, 
by  name  Peter  Jones,  who  was  of  a  literary  turn  of 
mind. 

"  O,  that  sweet  simplicity  pose  is  considered  quite  the 
thing — when  it  is  becoming ! "  subjoined  Miss  Hunter,  in 
a  tone  which  implied  that  the  present  case  did  not  fulfil 
the  condition. 

"  When  it  is  becoming,"  echoed  Cilly,  with  still  more 
disparaging  emphasis. 

"  It  wouldn't  become  you,  Milly,"  tittered  a  youth  whose 
general  callowness  had  drawn  upon  him  the  ignominious 
nickname  of  "Chicken." 

"  The  simplicity,  Mr.  Impudence  ? "  inquired  Miss 
Hunter,  tartly. 

"  No,  the  sweetness,  Milly,"  retorted  Miss  Virginie 
Sharpe,  a  spinister,  of  whom  more  hereafter. 

"  Come  over  by  me,  Chicken,"  invited  Miss  Linnett, 
whom  the  literary  Jones  had  deserted.  "  Miss  Sharpe 
implies  that  your  proximity  sets  Milly  at  a  disadvantage." 

"  Girls,  hear  Carrie ! "  shrieked  Susanna  Tompson,  a 
plain-faced  young  woman  who  completed  the  group. 
"  She's  telling  Chicken  that  he's  just  too  sweet  for  any- 
thing." 

The  group  laughed  uproariously. 

Isolde's  face,  as  she  reached  Althea,  wore  a  slightly  puz- 


50  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

zled  expression.  Hitherto  she  had  idealized  Newfield's 
social  aspect.  To-night,  for  the  first  time,  a  doubt  if  her 
ideal  was  realized,  presented  itself.  She  resisted  it  loy- 
ally. It  \vas  her  social  inexperience,  she  told  herself, 
that  made  her  feel  ill  at  ease,  constrained,  even  embar- 
rassed, in  the  presence  of  these  gay  and  nimble-tongued 
youths  and  maidens.  Her  heaviness,  not  their  lightness, 
was  at  fault.  She  smiled  at  a  sally  of  the  blue-eyed 
boy's  beside  her,  but  the  smile  did  not  deceive  him.  Be- 
hind it  lurked  a  seriousness  which  he  saw  and  miscon- 
ceived. 

"  You  are  bored,"  he  said,  ruefully  ;  "and  I,  thanks  to 
you,  am  enjoying  the  evening  so  much.  I  suppose  that 
our  little  affairs  cannot  be  expected  to  amuse — you." 

"Have  you  found  it  so  difficult  to  amuse — me?"  she 
asked  with  mischievous  mimicry. 

"O,  no, — not  that,  of  course; "he  stammered,  "but 
things  of  this  sort — social  things,  you  know — must  be  so 
different  in  the  East.  The  West  is  not  very  well  up, 
just  yet,  in  frills  and  fixings." 

"  Mr.  Holbrook  is  saying,"  she  laughed  to  Althea,  as 
they  reached  her,  "  that  the  West  is  not  yet  up,  socially, 
in  '  frills  and  fixings.'  What  are  frills  and  fixings,  Althea  ?  " 

"Jack  is  a  bad  boy,"  evaded  Althea.  "The  West  is 
up  in  everything.  Eeal-estate  interests  'oblige.'  By 
the  way,  Isolde,  of  course  you  know  Mr.  Harriman  ?  No  ? 
Then  you  yourself  are  unknown.  That  is  the  only  solu- 
tion." 

"  Flattering  to  which  of  us,  Miss  Sterling  ? "  asked 
Steele,  as  he  bowed.  He  looked  at  her  admiringly.  The 
lamplight,  garish  upon  others,  seemed  to  shed  a  softer 
light  as  it  mingled  with  her  golden-brown  hair,  and  vivid, 
yet  delicate  blond  tints.  Her  eyes,  bright  with  excite- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  51 

ment,  suddenly  softened  as  they  met  his  ;  then  shyly 
veiled  themselves  in  their  white  lids.  He  noticed  that 
her  lashes  were  long  and  thick,  with  tips  that  curled 
coquettishly  upward,  casting  a  semicircular  shadow  upon 
her  soft  young  cheeks.  Her  hand  stole  into  his.  He 
clasped  it  the  more  warmly,  because  he  had  not  invited 
it.  It  had  come  of  her  own  will. 

"Mr.  Harriman  is  not  quite  a  stranger  to  me,"  she  be- 
gan. The  shy  flush  in  her  cheeks  deepened.  Just  at  that 
instant  the  piano  and  violin  resumed  the  shrill-voiced 
contest  which  a  merciful  truce  had  hushed,  temporarily. 
Her  gentle  voice  was  rendered  inaudible.  With  a  little 
shrug  and  smile  she  turned  away  and  took  a  seat  beside 
Althea. 

He  followed  her  with  a  secret  imprecation  upon  the 
inopportune  fortissimos  which  had  silenced  her  impul- 
sive words.  Why  was  not  he  quite  a  stranger  to  her,  he 
wondered.  She  must  be  either  very  simple  or  very  guile- 
ful, to  make  such  an  admission.  Guileful  ?  Her  shy 
soft  eyes,  her  pure  sweet  face,  shamed  the  suspicion.  His 
eyes  wandered  to  her  white  gown,  falling  in  graceful  folds 
from  throat  to  feet.  Then,  involuntarily,  they  sought 
his  own  rough  habit.  The  contrast  struck  him  almost 
painfully.  For  the  second  time  he  cursed  his  folly.  The 
violin  scraped  into  a  waltz-tune,  and  the  piano  cackled 
after  it.  With  an  amused  sense  of  the  incongruity  of  the 
thing,  he  asked  her  for  the  waltz. 

Newfield  feet  had  not  yet  mastered  the  subtleties  of  the 
waltz-reverse,  and  the  couples  who  had  not  come  to  open 
grief  were  bobbing  about  in  an  out-of-step  manner,  or 
breaking  at  will  into  polka  or  galop,  heedless  of  the 
music's  tune  and  time.  As  Steele  and  Isolde  made  a  cir- 
cuit of  the  hall,  in  the  long,  sliding,  swaying  step  of  the 


52  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

dancer  born  and  bred,  the  attention  of  the  company  was 
concentrated  upon  them.  Behind  her  lorgnette  Althea 
smiled  at  the  general  verdict.  It  was,  that  they  made  a 
handsome  couple. 

As  the  waltz  ended,  Isolde  returned,  flushed  and 
smiling. 

"  I  have  never  been  to  a  real  dance  before,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "  Do  I  betray  the  novice  I  am,  Althea?  " 

"Ask  Mr.  Harriman,"  replied  Althea,  with  a  daring 
look  Harrimanward. 

"  Are  you  really  a  novice  ? "  he  asked.  "  But  yes, 
you  must  be,  since  you  call  this  '  a  real  dance  ! ' ' 

"  But  is  it  not  a  real  dance  ?  " 

"  That  last  waltz  was — for  me  ! " 

"Say  thank  you,  Isolde,"  prompted  Althea.  "You 
could  not  suspect  it,  but  that  last  remark  was  intended 
for  a  compliment." 

"  Then  its  kind  intention  was  quite  fulfilled,  Althea," 
replied  the  girl,  gently.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Harriman. 
And  now  please  answer  my  question." 

"  As  to  the  real  dance  ?  Frankly,  then,  Miss  Sterling, 
while  unwaxed  floors,  crack-voiced  fiddles,  romping  reels 
and  heels,  and  men  in  miners' dress — I  mean  undress — 
are  still  unostracized,  I  fear  that  Newfield  cannot  show 
you  'a  real  dance.'  But  possibly  it  has  its  equivalents." 

"  In  its  dancers  ?  "  queried  Althea,  innocently. 

«  In  its " 

"  SUPPEK,"  roared  a  stentorian  voice. 

"Answered,  Mrs.  Bounds,"  laughed  Steele.  "And 
now,  may  I  not  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company  and 
Miss  Sterling's  at  my  table  ?  We  clubmen  have  our 
private  nooks,  you  know,  which  even  the  Shakespeare 
Club  may  not  invade  uninvited." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  53 

"  Go,  Isolde !  "  acquiesced  Althea,  after  a  moment  of 
elaborate  hesitation.  "  I  will  follow  when  I  have  spoken 
to  Mrs.  Dumond,  the  club  president,  who  is  gesticulat- 
ing to  me  in  the  most  appealing  manner." 

She  disappeared  in  the  crowd  as  she  spoke.  Isolde 
looked  after  her  blankly.  With  a  smile  Steele  offered 
his  arm.  As  she  took  it  he  caught  a  whiff  of  fragrance  so 
faint  as  to  be  rather  a  sweet  suggestion  than  a  perceptible 
odor.  Always  thereafter  the  memory  of  that  fragrance 
was  associated  with  her  in  his  thoughts.  It  was  not  a 
sensuous  memory.  Even  in  that  first  hour  of  acquaint- 
ance, while  the  girl  was  still  virtually  unknown  to  him, 
it  impressed  him  as  the  fragrance  exhaled  from  a  pure 
young  spirit,  shut,  like  the  golden  heart  of  the  lily  in  its 
sweet  white  petals,  in  correspondingly  pure  young  flesh. 

The  crowd  swept  them  on.  It  surged  down  the  long 
stairs  in  a  noisy  torrent.  Girls  pressed  close  to  the  es- 
corts who,  in  rural  reversal  of  matters,  were  hanging  on 
their  arms.  A  few  young  men  straddled  the  baluster  and 
sped  down,  cheered  by  the  spectators.  A  challenge  was 
sent  out  for  a  girl  to  follow  suit,  a  kiss  from  the  man  of 
her  choice  being  proposed  as  her  reward.  The  crowd 
waited.  Suddenly  a  girl  sprung  from  the  upper  staii-, 
and  mounting  the  baluster,  flashed  down  the  flight  be- 
fore her  intention  was  realized.  A  roar  of  laughter  rose 
from  the  men.  The  women  tittered  more  or  less  indul- 
gently. From  the  lower  landing  came  the  noise  of  a 
playful  scuffle,  followed  by  a  long,  loud,  sibilant  sound,  at 
which  Isolde  flushed  up  to  her  small  ears,  and  looked 
startled. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Milly  Hunter! "  hurrahed  the  crowd, 
surging  into  the  supper-room. 

A  double  row  of  long  tables  occupied  the  centre  of  the 


54  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

room.  Smaller  tables  were  ranged  against  the  wall  To 
one  of  these,  set  in  the  alcove  of  an  open  window,  the 
young  banker  led  Isolde.  She  took  her  seat  in  silence, 
and  turned  her  face  to  the  night.  In  truth,  she  was  some- 
what embarrassed.  She  had  been  unprepared  for  such  a 
riotous  scene  as  she  had  witnessed.  He  scanned  her 
averted  face  with  gloomy  eyes. 

"Your  initiation  into  Newfield  society  cannot  be  called 
propitious,  Miss  Sterling,  he  said.  "  You  will  not  wish  to 
repeat  the  experience." 

She  divined  his  humiliation,  and  with  the  fine  instinct 
of  a  lady  sought  to  assuage  it. 

"  Indeed  I  shall  wish  to  repeat  it  soon,  and  very  often," 
she  answered  brightly.  "  There  is  a  butterfly -instinct  in 
us  all,  do  you  not  think  ?  and  I — I  have  always  been  a 
caterpillar.  Now  that  my  wings  have  broken  from  the 
chrysalis,  I  feel  impelled  to  plume  them,  to  open  them, 
to  flutter  them,  to  fly  !  " 

"  To  fly  away,  I  can  well  believe." 

"  No,  if  to  fly  away  were  the  cost  of  opening  my  wings, 
I  would  keep  them  shut  forever." 

He  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  She  met  his  gaze  with 
frank,  unconscious  eyes.  An  hour  earlier  he  had  ques- 
tioned if  she  were  guileful.  He  could  no  longer  doubt 
her  simplicity.  Like  Druce,  he  found  it  difficult  to  realize 
that  she  was  Althea's  sister.  Of  simplicity,  at  least,  Althea 
could  not  be  accused.  Even  as  he  smiled  at  the  thought, 
Althea  appeared,  sailing  triumphantly  toward  the  little 
table,  with  old  John  Harriman  in  her  wake.  The  sum- 
mons of  the  club  president  had  been  her  little  fiction. 
She  had  caught  sight  of  John  Harriman,  hesitating  in  the 
doorway,  and  thereupon  had  set  about  his  capture  in  cir- 
cuituous  fashion,  for  her  own  inscrutable  ends.  She  smiled 


A  SOX  OF  ESAU.  55 

as  sweetly,  seating  herself,  as  if  she  did  not  know  that  the 
young  banker  was  secretly  execrating  her  officiousness. 
Not  that  he  was  ashamed  of  his  simple  old  father — on  the 
contrary,  he  gloried  in  him  ;  but  in  this  first  hour  of  their 
acquaintance  he  would  have  preferred  to  impress  himself 
upon  the  Eastern  girl's  consciousness,  independent  of  all 
local  associations.  His  greeting,  however,  betrayed  no 
disappointment. 

"  Here,  father  !  "  he  said  cordially,  resigning  his  seat, 
and  passing  to  the  foot  of  the  table. 

"Quite  a  family  party,  I  declare/'  remarked  Althea. 
Then  she  laughed  at  the  audaciousness  of  her  speech. 
Steele  glanced  at  Isolde.  She  was  smiling  at  his  father, 
who  was  cordially  shaking  both  her  hands.  The  old  man 
looked  radiant. 

" This  here's  a  sight  fur  old  eyes,"  he  was  saying.  "I 
was  young  onct  mysel',  an'  th'  sight  o'  young  folkses' 
doin's  sorter  brings  it  all  back.  When  an  old  man  sech 
as  me  lias  a  grow'd  up  son  like  my  son  Steele  here,  he 
lives  life  all  over  again  in  th'  youth  born  o'  him.  Some 
day,  when  ye've  sons  o'  yer  own,  ye'll  know  how  'tis,  my 
dear." 

"Your  son  Steele  is  a  local  institution,  Mr.  Harriman," 
exclaimed  Althea,  rushing  to  the  rescue.  "  Really  I  do 
not  know  what  Newfield  would  do  without  him." 

"He's  my  dear  boy,"  assented  the  old  man,  beaming 
with  happy  pride.  "  My  dear  boy  !  " 

"Keep  him  yours,"  advised  wily  Althea.  "Beware  of 
the  enticements  of  any  designing  petticoat.  Marriage 
affects  man  as  England  does  ale.  It  makes  him  '  'alf  and 
'alf.' " 

John  Hftrriman  did  not  smile. 

"  My  son  Steele's  a  good  boy  now,  Mis'  Rounds,"  he 


56  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

said,  "  but  it'll  take  a  woman's  soft  little  hand  ter  make 
him  a  good  man.  Th'  Lord  left  it  ter  th'  woman  ter 
bring  th'  men-folks  inter  th'  world,  an'  I  sorter  reason  as 
how  th'  job's  jest  left  in  her  hands  till  she's  see'd  'em 
through  it.  My  son  Steele  '11  find  nuthin'  sweeter'r  nor 
preciouser  in  life  than  th'  little  woman  as  '11  some  day  love 
him ;  an'  he  can't  do  no  better'r,  before  God  nor  man, 
than  ter  jest  be  worthy  o'  her." 

"  0,  the  dear  old  man !  "  murmured  Isolde  to  Althea. 

"O,  you  dear  little  fool!"  mimicked  Althea,  in  a 
responsive  whisper. 

Supper  was  being  served  at  the  long  tables.  Althea 
lifted  her  lorgnette  and  surveyed  the  dishes. 

"Canned  oysters,  native  wines,  uneatable  sandwiches, 
and  melted  ice-cream  ! "  she  announced,  with  a  rueful 
grimace.  "  Why  was  I  tempted  to  stay  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  bill-of-fare  of  the  Shakespeare  Club,  Mrs. 
Bounds,"  said  Steele.  "  We  are  with,  but  not  of  it." 

Althea,  who  was  a  bit  of  an  epicure,  brightened  visibly. 

"  I  know  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  are  going  to  give  us  a 
sip  of  champagne  from  your  private  stock.  Yes,  here  it 
is,  and  a  delicious  mayonnaise  with  it.  How  did  you 
manage  it,  you  prince  of  hosts  ?  Pop !  that  is  dry  Pom- 
mery.  Domestic  wines  never  pop,  they  only  fizzle — 
characteristic,  rather,  of  the  national  spirit." 

"  Do  you  like  champagne,  Miss  Sterling  ?  "  Steele 
asked  as  he  filled  her  glass. 

"I  love  to  see  it  work,"  she  said,  lifting  the  long- 
stemmed  glass  to  the  light  "  Its  sparkles  seem  so  full 
of  life  and  youth  and  brightness.  It  is  too  pretty  to 
drink,  at  first ;  and  after,  one  does  not  care  for  it.  In 
honor  of  the  Shakespeare  Club,  I  think  the  moral  must 
be  that  the  tide  not  '  taken  at  the  flood  ' — etc." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  57 

"O,  but  Mr.  Harrinian  always  does  take  the  tide  at  the 
flood,  my  dear !  "  reminded  Althea,  whom  the  champagne 
had  made  gracious.  "For  instance,  the  Newfield  Bnnk." 

"That  there's  th'  bank!"  ejaculated  the  proud  old 
father,  emphasizing  the  words  with  a  blow  of  his  clenched 
fist  on  the  table. 

The  other  small  tables,  with  few  exceptions,  were  occu- 
pied by  decorous  family  parties.  At  the  main  tables, 
however,  where  the  younger  and  gayer  guests  had  con- 
gregated, the  merriment  was  becoming  riotous.  Loud 
voices  and  louder  laughter  rang  from  them.  Shrill  femi- 
nine giggles  staccatoed  masculine  guffaws.  At  one  of  the 
tables  a  young  man  rose,  glass  in  hand,  to  make  a  speech. 
Fruit,  bread,  and  other  esculents  were  thrown  at  him,  and 
the  glass,  dashed  from  his  hand,  fell  and  broke  upon  the 
floor.  At  the  next  table  the  centre-piece  of  bonbons  was 
roughly  demolished,  and  the  bonbons  were  snapped  with 
laughs  and  shrieks,  amidst  noisy  nut-crackings,  and  bois- 
terous cries  of  "  Philopena."  Althea  put  her  hands  to  her 
ears. 

"  That  Hunter  girl  ought  to  be — married  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, a  moment  later.  "  Look  at  her  now." 

Hilly  was  standing  upon  her  chair,  her  head  adorned 
by  a  bright  green  paper  cap,  to  whose  high-peaked  crown 
a  frolicsome  youth  had  surreptitiously  applied  a  match. 
As  the  flames  neared  her  head,  she  gave  a  piercing  shriek, 
and  tearing  off  the  blazing  cap  flung  it  upon  the  table. 
There  was  a  feminine  stampede,  followed  by  a  crash  and 
sizzle,  as  the  fire  was  extinguished  under  a  jug  of  water 
pitched  from  an  adjacent  table. 

The  apology  for  the  scene,  with  which  Steele  turned  to 
Isolde,  was  unspoken.  She  had  drawn  aside  the  curtain 
and  was  leaning  toward  the  window,  her  dreamful  eyes 


58  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

fixed  on  the  outer  darkness.  Althea's  mention  of  the 
Newfield  Bank,  old  John  Harrimau's  beaming  face,  the 
ringing  voice,  the  handsome  magnetic  presence  of  the 
young  banker — all  recalled  to  her  the  scene  of  the  bank- 
opening.  Once  more  she  heard  his  appealing  words,  once 
more  her  soul  responded.  Impulsively  she  turned  to 
him.  The  words  that  had  been  on  her  lips  earlier  in  the 
evening,  were  now  spoken. 

"Speaking  of  your  bank,"  she  said,  "I  was  present  at 
your  inauguration.  It  was  a  coronation,  and  the  king's 
speech  was  royal !  Ever  since,  I  have  been  wishing  to 
congratulate  you." 

The  young  man  smiled.  For  more  than  one  reason  he 
was  well  pleased.  The  girl's  words,  in  themselves  grati- 
fying, solved  the  riddle  of  the  earlier  evening.  He  knew 
now  why  she  had  said  that  he  was  not  a  stranger  to  her. 
He  suspected  that  he  was  even  less  a  stranger  to  her  than 
she  acknowledged. 

"I  am  indeed  a  king,"  he  whispered,  as  they  rose  from 
the  table,  "  since  your  words  have  crowned  me.  To  wear 
the  crown  royally  shall  be  my  endeavor — if  I  may  wear  it 
— for  your  sake." 

She  blushed,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  window.  Althea 
and  his  father  had  passed  ahead.  He  stepped  over  the 
sill,  and  without  a  word  extended  his  hands.  After  an 
instant's  hesitation  she  followed  him.  A  turn  in  the  ve- 
randa commanded  a  view  of  the  mountains,  from  which 
the  breeze  blew  freshly.  He  took  her  wrap  from  her  arm 
and  folded  it  about  her. 

"You  will  like  it  out  here,"  he  asserted.  "  In  there  we 
were  on  the  stage,  in  the  glare  of  the  footlights.  Here, 
behind  the  scenes,  our  parts  played  and  the  curtain  rung 
down,  we  can  be  our  real  selves.  And  the  real  self  is  al- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  59 

ways  the  best  self,  is  it  not,  Miss  Sterling?  Poor  old 
human  nature  is  not  such  a  bad  lot,  after  all." 

"  Against  whom  are  you  defending  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  against  you,  certainly.    You  idealize  it,  of  course." 

"I  do  not  admit  the  '  of  course,'  Mr.  Harriinan  !  " 

"Nor  the  ideals?" 

"  Ah,  that  depends ! " 

He  accepted  the  evasion,  liking  her  the  better  for  it. 
She  was  not  as  transparent  as  he  had  supposed.  Even 
her  simplicities  were  not  without  an  instinctive  subtle  re- 
serve born  of  vestal  pride  and  purity.  Over  the  night 
swayed  a  waltz-strain.  The  leaves  of  the  cottonwoods 
rustled  like  fairy-feet  pattering  in  time  to  it.  The  massive 
shadow  of  the  range,  overhanging  the  starlit  prairie  like  a 
dark  phantom,  swayed  like  a  living  presence,  as  the  nether 
grass  rippled  in  the  breeze  gentle  of  passage  as  an  angel's 
unseen  wing. 

"  It  is  beautiful !"  he  assented,  in  answer  to  her  de- 
lighted exclamation.  "  Even  I,  to  whom  the  scene  in  all 
its  aspects  is  an  old,  old  story,  am  not  insensible  to  its 
spell.  The  eternal  fascination  of  the  mountains  lies  alike, 
I  think,  in  their  strength  and  their  repose.  They  are 
Nature's  counterpoise  for  human  weakness  and  unrest. 
We  have  distanced  many  a  restless  mood,  my  mare  Lady- 
bird  and  I,  in  a  midnight  gallop  through  the  hush  and 
darkness.  Can  you  fancy  the  dash  from  a  sleepless  bed 
into  the  saddle,  the  wild  gallop  in  face  of  the  night-wind, 
its  hiss  mingling  with  the  muffled  thud  of  gallant  hoofs 
speeding  on,  on,  till  the  great  crags  close  around  one  like 
a  god's  strong  arms?  For  an  hour  the  cramp  and  suffo- 
cation of  finite  individual  existence  are  forgotten.  One 
draws  breath  :  the  race  of  life  is  ended,  the  goal  attained ! 
The  hour  passes  with  the  midnight,  but  it  leaves  its  mark 


GO  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

behind  it.  One  is  no  longer  a  mere  finite  unit,  but  an 
integral  part  of  the  infinite  universal  whole." 

"  Isolde  !  "  called  Althea  from  the  window,  "  I  have  been 
searching  everywhere  for  you.  Are  you  not  ready  for 
'  home,  sweet  home,'  you  moonstruck  child  ?  " 

"  Quite  ready,  Althea,"  she  answered.  Nevertheless 
she  lingered  for  a  moment.  In  that  moment  he  took  her 
hand,  and  held  it  in  both  his  own. 

"You  are  going  to  your  prayers,"  he  said,  in  a  wist- 
ful voice,  "and  to  your  white,  white  dreams.  Good- 
night." 

She  did  not  answer  him  in  words,  but  her  lifted  eyes 
were  eloquent.  As  he  followed  her  to  the  carnage  he 
smiled — at  himself  as  well  as  her. 

Both  Druce  and  Dr.  Keene  had  been  attentive  observers 
of  the  little  party  in  the  supper-room  alcove.  When  the 
dancing  was  resumed,  the  doctor,  who  in  flagrant  disre- 
gard of  professional  principles,  had  upset  his  digestion, 
and  consequently  his  temper,  by  indulgence  in  welsh  rare- 
bit and  hard  old  ale,  snatched  his  sombrero  from  its  peg 
in  the  hallway,  and  seizing  Druce's  arm,  dragged  him 
down  the  stairs,  heedless  of  the  young  minister's  protests 
against  such  unceremonious  departure. 

"  Ceremony  be  hanged,"  ejaculated  the  doctor,  loosing 
his  hold  as  they  reached  the  street.  "  What  conven- 
tional obligations  shall  be  imposed  by  a  society  which 
tolerates  such  an  asinine  absurdity  as  a  Shakespeare  Club 
Dance  ?  Heels  against  heads  it  is,  indeed — or  would  be, 
were  there  any  heads  in  the  club  save  blockheads  !  The 
association  of  Marmaduke  Sterling's  daughter  with  such 
a  scene  is  worse  than  folly.  Althea  Rounds  ought  to  be 
horsewhipped  for  suffering  it." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  61 

"Miss  Sterling  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  evening," 
remarked  Druce,  mischievously. 

"  Eu  joy  ing  it  ?  "  fumed  the  doctor.  "  That  shows  how 
far  your  ministerial  eyes  see  over  a  prayer-book.  She 
was  shy,  dazed,  distressed  by  her  incongruous  surround- 
ings, till  that  son  of  Old  Harry  changed  the  aspect  of 
things  by  his  mere  appearance.  He  is  a  splendid  speci- 
men of  the  human  male  animal,"  he  admitted,  grudging- 
ly ;  "  strong  and  beautiful,  and  with  the  voice  of  the  angel 
Israfel — dash  him  !  " 

"  Israfel  ?  " 

"  No,  Harrirnan — though,  Hades  knows,  he  is  dashing 
enough  already  !  He  took  that  poor  little  girl  by  storm. 
She  could  scarcely  take  her  fascinated  eyes  from  him.  He 
was  doing  the  sentimental  beautifully,  and  she  swallowed 
the  sham  for  the  divinest  truth.  He  saw  her  innocent 
credulity,  and  judged  her  by  it ;  but  he  will  find  out  his 
mistake.  Her  siege  will  be  no  easy  one,  even  for  him. 
She  will  retreat  the  further  into  her  vestal  shrine  the 
nearer  the  violator  approaches." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Druce,  shyly,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I 
speak  intrusively,  but  you  have  such  a  tender  heart  for 
women,  you  should  have  a  daughter  of  your  own  to  guide 
and  watch  over.  It  is  a  pity  that  you  have  not  married." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  From  the  wind-stirred 
cottonwoods  the  dews  plashed  to  the  ground  with  the 
sound  of  falling  tears.  The  doctor's  voice,  as  he  an- 
swered, harmonized  with  them. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  in  every  lonely  man's  and  woman's 
life  there  is  a  pathetic  story,  not  necessarily  told  to  its 
end — sometimes  but  a  mere  suggestion  ;  yet  traced  on 
the  heart  with  the  life-blood  of  youth,  graven  on  the  face 
by  bitter,  secret  tears  shed  in  loneliness,  in  yearning,  in 


C2  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

heartache  always,  in  heartbreak  often.  Forty  years  ago 
I  called  mine  heartbreak.  Life  has  taught  me,  since,  that 
the  man's  heart  gets  no  further  than  the  ache  ;  the  break 
is  left  for  the  woman's." 

They  had  reached  the  parsonage.  "Without  a  farewell 
look  or  word  the  old  man  strode  on.  Turning  into  the 
gate  Druce  rested  his  arms  on  its  low,  white  post,  and 
watched  him  out  of  sight.  Then  his  eyes  lifted  to  the 
high,  still,  starlit  skies. 

"  My  God !  my  God  !  "  he  murmured.  "  Then  the 
tears,  the  heartache,  the  heartbreak,  are  the  common  lot. 
None  escape  it.  None." 

Over  the  heavens  passed  a  sudden  cloud.  The  shining 
stars  were  shadowed.  In  the  darkened  waste  before  him 
the  young  minister  saw  a  vision, — Gethsemane,  its  lonely 
Figure  prostrate  in  the  Agony,  the  mute  Eyes,  eloquent 
of  pain  and  yearning  unappeasable,  fixed  on  Peter,  His 
disciple,  who  in  the  distance  slept.  A  sob,  the  first,  last 
plaint,  reproach,  of  His  patient  Passion,  broke  from  His 
anguished  Heart. 

"  Could  you  not  watch  one  hour  with  Me  ?  " 

Loneliness,  loneliness, — the  agony  of  God  and  man  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ACROSS   THE    RUBICON. 

The  Ledge  was  a  large  white  house  which  impressed 
one  at  first  sight  as  having  been  built  on  the  instalment 
plan.  Nor  did  this  appearance  belie  the  truth.  In  the 
pioneer  days  of  the  West,  George  Rounds,  senior,  had 
lifted  on  its  site,  first  his  tent,  then  a  rude  pine-cabin, 
and  later,  in  more  prosperous  years,  a  small  white  cot- 
tage, to  which  ell  and  story  were  added  thereafter,  as 
need  or  whim  suggested.  In  the  hands  of  his  only  son, 
Althea's  husband,  the  house  was  transformed,  as  far  as 
the  transformation-power  of  paint  and  upholstery  ex- 
tended, but  the  original  structure  remained  unaltered. 

Althea  mourned  over  its  winding  stairways,  its  odd- 
shaped  rooms,  and  its  omnipresent  extensions ;  but 
Isolde  rejoiced  in  the  rambling  halls  with  their  shadowy 
recesses,  in  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  quaint  cham- 
bers, and  in  the  deep  windows  jutting  in  all  directions, 
and  commanding  equally  fine  views  of  the  pine-woods, 
olive-amber  in  the  sunshine,  of  the  prairie  sweeping  like 
a  grass-waved,  flower-fleeted  sea,  and  of  the  purple- 
misted  mountains,  whose  jagged  ledges  stretching  like 
giant-arms  in  the  direction  of  the  house,  gave  it  its  name. 
In  fact,  Isolde  rejoiced  in  everything.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  her  new  life  that  did  not  delight  her.  It  held  one 
all-pervading,  imperishable  charm — its  contrast  to  the 
old. 


C4-  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  season  was  an  early  one.  Tiny  white  daisies  and 
blue  anemones  having  budded  out  prematurely,  declined 
to  be  frightened  back  to  cover  by  the  occasional  chill 
winds  sweeping  back  like  farewell  messages  from  the  de- 
parting winter ;  and  white  field-lilies,  following  them  in 
acolyth-file,  summoned  with  breeze-swayed  fragrant  cen- 
sers all  their  flowery  kin.  Soon  the  land  was  one  chame- 
leon bed  of  bloom,  whose  every  bewildering  tint  was 
reflected  in  the  overhanging  mirror  of  skies  ;  and  neither 
bird  nor  bee  held  gayer  carnival  than  Isolde.  She  was  up 
with  the  larks  in  the  dewy,  fresh,  spring  mornings,  twit- 
tering to  the  swallows  that  fluttered  by  her  window,  tril- 
ling to  the  thrushes  singing  in  shadow  of  the  cottonwoods, 
warbling  her  own  little  lay  of  life  and  youth  and  glad- 
ness meanwhile,  her  voice  but  the  echo  of  her  singing 
heart.  She  looked  across  the  sunshine  and  wondered 
that  she  had  never  before  realized  what  a  beautiful  world 
she  lived  in,  what  a  perfect  thing  life  was.  She  made 
sweet  little  songs,  spontaneous  as  the  songs  of  the 
thrushes,  and  sung  them  wandering  knee-deep  in  the 
flowered  grasses  ;  quaint  little  prayers,  unorthodox  as 
the  matins  of  the  swallows,  and  said  them  kneeling  in 
God's  open  fane.  She  took  her  little  cousin  Gaylord's 
hands  in  hers,  and  danced  about  with  him  in  wild,  wide, 
merry  circles,  shouting  like  a  child  for  very  joy  of  living 
— a  joy  as  open  and  luminous  for  any  eye  to  read  as  the 
young  spring  sun  shining  on  the  prairie. 

"It  makes  me  glad  to  look  at  her,"  said  Druce  to  Dr. 
Keene,  as  they  walked  back  together  from  a  call  at  the 
Ledge. 

"Why,"  queried  the  doctor,  whose  responses  defied  all 
rules  of  polite  conversation,  "  why  is  joy  so  often  more 
pathetic  than  pain  ?  " 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  65 

The  reverend  Druce  gave  it  up.  The  doctor  worked 
out  the  problem  in  thoughtful  silence. 

She  took  long,  delightful  drives  over  the  prairie  ;  half- 
day  canters  through  the  pine-woods  whose  narrow  paths, 
winding  in  and  out  their  dark  recesses,  brought  her  at 
last  to  the  base  of  the  mountains,  grassed  and  flowered  on 
their  foothills,  snow-crowned  on  their  heights.  She  made 
friends  of  the  farm-hands  working  in  the  road-side  fields, 
and  of  the  women  and  children  living  in  the  little  cabins 
of  the  mining  settlement.  Not  infrequently  she  chanced 
to  meet  the  laughing,  blue-eyed  young  farmer  she  had 
favored  at  the  club  dance,  who  rode  back  with  her  to  the 
Ledge.  Before  her  awakening  human  interests  her  old 
visionary  dreams  and  fancies  vanished  like  starlight  be- 
fore the  sun.  She  no  longer  wrote  ;  she  lived.  Her  let- 
ters were  bubbling  over  with  such  exuberant  spirits  that 
her  mother  read  and  re-read  them,  finding  it  difficult 
to  recognize  her  pale,  quiet,  dreamful  Isolde,  in  the  wild, 
merry  madcap  whose  dancing  eyes  and  glowing  face 
laughed  at  her  from  every  line.  And  indeed  the  girl  did 
not  quite  recognize  herself.  Spiritually  and  physically 
there  was  a  change.  In  truth  she  was  maturing,  soul  and 
body,  as  naturally  as  the  hothouse-bud  matures,  trans- 
planted to  God's  free  soil.  The  luminousness  of  the 
spring  sunbeams,  the  warm  virginal  glow  of  the  spring 
bloom,  were  on  her  face  ;  the  reflection  not  only  of  the 
spring  without  but  of  the  spring  within — the  spring  of 
life,  called  Youth! 

"With  the  dance  of  the  Shakespeare  Club  the  season  of 
Newfield's  formal  social  entertainments  virtually  closed ; 
a  series  of  informal  out-of-door  merrymakings  succeeding 
them.  During  the  day  there  were  picnics  in  the  woods 
or  by  the  river,  or  excursions  to  distant  ranch  or  camp  or 


66  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

farmhouse  ;  in  the  evening,  riding  or  driving  parties,  and 
gatherings  of  gay  young  folks  on  twilight  lawns,  for  tennis 
or  croquet,  followed,  as  night  deepened,  by  impromptu 
dances  on  piazzas,  or  in  barns  lighted  by  dim  lanterns,  or 
perhaps  only  by  the  starlight  streaming  in  through  the 
open  doors.  The  Ledge,  since  Isolde's  advent,  had  be- 
come one  of  the  favorite  meeting-places  of  these  sociable 
young  people.  Althea  alone  had  not  been  popular  enough 
to  attract  many  informal  callers,  for  which  she  had  been 
wont  to  thank  her  stars.  There  was  a  mystery  about  her 
which  Newfield  resented,  because  it  failed  to  solve  it. 
"  You  are  ice  and  fire,"  Steele  Harriman  had  said  to  her, 
early  in  their  acquaintance.  "  I  see  the  ice,  I  feel  the 
fire  !  "  and  though  many  had  felt  it  with  him,  only  he  had 
dared  the  words.  That  Althea  had  intended  him  to  feel 
it,  he  did  not  suspect  at  the  time.  No  man  reads  a 
woman  quite  through  and  through.  To  the  frankest  page 
she  holds  him,  there  is  always  a  reserve. 

Since  their  parting  on  the  club-house  piazza  on  the 
night  of  the  dance,  Isolde  and  the  young  banker  had  not 
met.  His  father,  however,  almost  nightly  represented 
him  at  the  Ledge.  He  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Isolde  at  the 
club-supper,  and  had  haunted  her  since,  with  the  shame- 
faced fidelity  of  a  shy,  but  loving  child. 

"  She  sorter  minds  me  o'  mother  !  "  he  confided  to  Al- 
thea, one  evening,  explaining  his  sudden  devotion  to  the 
Ledge.  "  She's  got  a  way  wi'  her,  an'  a  look,  soft  an' 
gentle  an'  lovin'-like,  as  is  jest  mother  over  again.  An' 
ye  never  know'd  mother,  Mis'  Rounds  ?  Wai,  now  !  " 

"  Law  me  !  "  his  fellow-caller,  Mrs.  Holbrook,  ejaculated 
in  Althea's  ear  ;  "  if  ever  woman  led  a  man  by  the  nose, 
Winifred  Steele  did  John  Harriman.  She  warn't  any 
great  things  as  ever  I  see,  an'  she  carried  on  flighty  enough 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  67 

before  she  made  her  market.  She  warn't  nuthin'  to  boast 
of  as  a  church- member,  nuther,  but  went  flitterin'  about, 
hither  an'  yon,  with  no  hold  nowheres.  But  he  allers 
held  as  how  the  sun  riz  and  set  on  her,  an'  none  dared 
say  to  the  differ.  If  only  other  husbands  was  like  him  !  " 
sighed  Mrs.  Holbrook,  reproachfully  shaking  her  head  at 
her  disconcerted  spouse,  who  twirled  his  thumbs  in  pro- 
test ;  "  but  law  me,  they  ain't,  they  ain't !  " 

Old  John  Harriman,  needless  to  say,  did  not  overhear 
this  whisper.  Had  he  heard  it,  he  would  not  have  under- 
stood it.  "Mother  "  was,  as  indeed  she  always  had  been 
in  his  eyes,  a  heavenly  angel.  Earth  could  not  sully,  be- 
cause it  could  not  reach,  her  pure  white  wings. 

Blue-eyed  Jack  arrived  as  his  parents  departed.  "  They 
are  going  to  make  a  call — and  so  am  I !  "  he  explained, 
radiantly.  "  Miss  Sterling,  I  am  always  making  a  call, 
nowadays,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale." 

"Do  not  tell  it — yet,  Jack,"  warned  Althea. 

Isolde  laughed  with  them,  in  innocent  unconsciousness 
of  the  innuendo.  Why  she  laughed  she  did  not  think  to 
ask  herself.  Life,  of  late,  was  one  long  laugh  to  her. 
Old  John  Harriman  smiled  in  sympathy. 

"Jest  ye  two  go  on  sparkiu',  same's  if  I  warn't  here,"  he 
entreated.  "  Let  young  folkses  be  young  folkses  's  my 
motto  !  Us  old  people's  hed  our  day,  eh,  Mis'  Rounds  ?  " 

Althea  had  the  making  of  a  modern  fashionable  woman 
in  her,  and  considered  not  only  that  her  day  was  not  over, 
but  that,  her  marriage  notwithstanding,  it  had  not  yet 
begun.  Her  response  was  somewhat  curt,  in  consequence. 
Jack  hurled  himself  into  the  breach. 

"Someone  has  said  that  '  only  the  old  know  how  to  be 
young,'"  he  quoted.  "Mr.  Harriman,  we  appeal  to  you 
to  share  with  us  your  secret  of  eternal  youth." 


68  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  T\i  secret  o'  youth  is — love,"  answered  the  old  man, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  a  vision  of  "  mother." 

"  Love  ?  Hurrah  !  I  am  young  forever  !  "  shouted 
Jack,  boyishly  tossing  up  his  cap  and  catching  it  again, 
darting  an  eloquent  glance  at  Isolde  during  the  ma- 
noeuvre. 

"  And  happiness,  do  you  not  think,  Mr.  Harriman  ?  " 
added  Isolde.  "  One  feels  so  young  when  one  is  happy. 
At  least  I  do  !  " 

"  But  love  presupposes  happiness.  O,  do  admit  it,  Miss 
Sterling  !  "  pleaded  Jack.  "  If  it  does  not — '  Alas,  poor 
Yorick  ! ' " 

He  struck  an  attitude  of  such  woe-begone  dejection  that 
she  could  not  but  smile,  though  she  answered  earnest!}'. 

"I  read  somewhere,"  she  said,  "  that  love  and  pain  are 
synonyms.  But  I  suppose  this  can  be  true  only  of  the 
selfish  love  that  fails  to  forget  self  in  others." 

"In  another,  you  mean,  Isolde,"  corrected  Althea. 
"Your  plural  sounds  like  Mormonism." 

"  But  I  mean  my  plural,"  the  girl  insisted,  "  and  so,  I 
am  sure,  did  Mr.  Hairiman.  Love  of  God  and  of  all 
God's  creation  is  the  love  of  which  I  spoke.  He  was  not 
thinking  of  the  circumscribed  love  of  two." 

"  /  was,"  confessed  Jack,  impenitently. 

"You  are  an  overgrown  baby,"  retorted  Isolde.  "  You 
could  not  think  a  serious  thought  if  you  tried." 

"  Could  I  not  ?  "  he  asked,  with  sudden  earnestness. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  twilight  of  earth 
had  deepened  into  night ;  the  darkness  of  heaven  bright- 
ened into  stars.  From  the  distance  sounded  the  thud  of 
hoofs.  Old  John  Harriman  looked  eagerly  toward  the 
cross-roads. 

"Them's  Ladybird's  hoofs,"  he  said.     "I'd  know 'em 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  69 

in  a  herd  o'  steer.  My  son  Steele's  a-comin'.  He'd  Lev 
come  long  before,  only  that  he's  be'n  diggin'  away  like  a 
miner,  day  an'  night.  He's  bound  ter  make  th'  bank  a 
success,  an'  he's  jest  doin'  it.  It's  far  an'  away  ahead 
already  of  any  private  bank  'twixt  here  an'  'Frisco  ! " 

Jack  rose. 

"  I  must  tear  myself  away,"  he  said.  "  Mother  gave 
me  some  orders  for  town.  I  was  hoping  that  Miss  Ster- 
ling would  drive  in  with  me — but  of  course,  if  Harriman 
is  coming " 

" No  commission  for  me,  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Rounds?  "  he 
asked,  as  he  made  his  adieux. 

"Yes,"  whispered  Althea,  in  quick  assent.  "Take 
Isolde  as  far  as  the  gate  with  you,  and  show  her  that 
you  can  be  serious.  I  wish  you  to  leave  a  good  impres- 
sion." 

"  I'll  try,"  he  said,  with  a  fervently  grateful  glance.  He 
did  not  know  that  her  kindness  was  due  to  her  desire  that 
the  young  banker  should  be  greeted,  as  he  reached  the 
Ledge,  by  the  sight  of  Isolde  and  Jack,  hand  in  hand  to- 
gether. 

John  Harriman  had  not  been  mistaken.  His  son  had 
just  reached  the  cross-roads.  There  he  halted  and  hesi- 
tated. The  temptation  to  turn  to  the  Ledge  was  strong, 
and  for  this  very  reason  he  took  a  proud  pleasure  in  resist- 
ing it. 

Of  a  sudden,  however,  his  hesitation  ended.  He  had 
caught  sight  of  the  two  figures  sauntering  down  the 
Ledge  path,  and  even  in  the  semi  -  darkness  recognized 
them.  With  a  muttered  exclamation  he  gave  Ladybird 
her  head.  As  he  galloped  nearer  he  saw  Jack  take 
Isolde's  hand.  She  turned  a  flushed,  shyly  smiling  face 
to  greet  him  as  he  dismounted.  The  flush  was  not  for 


70  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Jack,  but  he  did  not  know  it.  He  saluted  both  somewhat 
gravely,  and  lingered  over  the  act  of  hitching  Ladybird. 
When  he  reached  the  gate  Jack  was  driving  down  the 
road,  and  Isolde  was  alone. 

She  was  looking  very  fair  and  girlish  in  her  simple 
gown,  whose  folds  followed  the  graceful  curves  of  her 
figure.  He  bared  his  head  as  he  reached  her,  but  did  not 
take  her  hand.  He  resented,  with  a  boyish,  unreasonable 
bitterness.  Jack's  clasp  of  it. 

"  My  father  is  here,  I  believe  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  answered  gently,  but  with  a  sudden  keen  sense  of 
disappointment.  In  the  little  hour  in  which  this  man  and 
she  had  met  and  parted,  the  possibility  had  suggested  it- 
self of  a  sweeter,  more  intimate  companionship  than  life 
had  yet  opened  to  her.  But  the  possibility  had  not  yet 
been,  and  now  in  his  averted  eyes  and  indifferent  voice 
she  seemed  to  read  that  it  would  never  be  fulfilled.  She 
was  conscious  less  of  her  disappointment  than  of  its  effect. 
She  felt  suddenly  chilled,  reserved,  repellent  as  well  as 
repelled.  It  was  a  strange  mood  for  gentle  Isolde.  The 
young  man  looked  at  her  tell-tale  face  curiously.  He 
missed  a  certain  simple  joyousness  which  had  been  in  it 
when  she  greeted  him.  Perhaps  it  had  followed  Jack 
Holbrook  down  the  star -lit  road,  he  told  himself,  sav- 
agely. Suddenly  their  eyes  met  and  held  each  other. 
Through  their  clear  windows  soul  questioned  soul,  and 
albeit  mutely,  the  answer  came.  In  that  brief  instant  of 
silent  communion,  their  acquaintance  grew  as  it  could 
not  have  grown  in  months  of  conventional  converse.  A 
Rubicon  had  been  passed,  but  its  name,  its  import,  they 
knew  not.  Toward  the  goal  that  lay  beyond  it  they 
pressed  with  heedless  feet 

"  A  new  moon,  good  people,"  announced  Althea,  break- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  71 

ing  the  silence  that  had  fallen  on  them.  u  When  I  was  a 
girl  I  used  to  wish  on  every  new  moon  for  a  lover.  After 
many  moons  he  came.  The  moral  is — Isolde,  I  leave  you 
to  answer !  " 

The  girl  hesitated.  Such  flippant  treatment  of  what 
to  her  unsophisticated  heart  seemed  a  hallowed  subject, 
struck  her  as  coarse,  even  revolting.  She  had  forgotten, 
for  the  moment,  to  what  unhappy  end  Althea's  love- 
episode  had  tended,  or  her  distress  would  have  been 
greater,  but  Althea  believed  her  to  be  thinking  of  it,  and 
felt  resentfully  intent  upon  torturing  her. 

"  The  moral,  my  dear,"  she  insisted. 

Steele  hastened  to  her  relief. 

"  You  are  behind  the  times,  Mrs.  Rounds,"  he  said,  "in 
spite  of  that — er — diminutive  telescope  through  which 
you  struck  awe  into  the  heart  of  Newfield,  at  the  club 
dance.  The  moral  is  no  longer  for  the  Young  Person. 
She  discards  it." 

"  In  favor  of  the  immoral  ?  "  asked  Althea.  "  I  call  that 
hard  on  Isolde." 

"  Upon  second  thoughts  I  retract  the  title,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  not  appropriate.  Miss  Sterling  is  not  at  all  repre- 
sentative of  the  Young  Person." 

"You  are  not  representative  of  the  Young  Person, 
Isolde, "  laughed  Althea.  "  The  logical  corollary  is  too 
unflattering  to  put  into  words.  The  slur  upon  your  mor- 
als might  be  forgiven  :  the  slur  upon  your -youth,  never, 
as  you  are  a  woman  ! " 

"  Miss  Sterling  understands  me,"  said  Steele,  with  a 
significant  look  into  the  shy  eyes  smiling  up  at  him. 

"If  she  does,"  retorted  Althea,  sharply,  "she  under- 
stands more  than  the  Young  Person  should." 

He  did  not  answer  in  words,  but  across  the  darkness 


72  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

their  eyes  met.  As  lie  looked  away,  at  last,  Althea 
changed  the  subject. 

The  crescent  moon  was  rising.  It  shed  no  light  as  yet, 
but  shone  with  concentrated  radiance  within  its  dark  sky- 
setting.  Its  line  was  perpendicular — it  held  no  rain,  John 
Harriman  said ;  and  close  beside  it  shone  the  watchful 
star  which  is  ever  faithful  in  its  vigil.  Isolde's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  it.  Her  woman's  heart  seemed  to  read  its 
mission  of  patient  faith  and  love  and  service.  Steele, 
looking  into  her  uplifted  eyes,  lost  himself  for  a  moment 
in  their  blue  depths.  Were  they  blue,  by  the  way,  or 
violet,  or  only  a  deep  blue-gray  ?  And  their  soft  lumi- 
nousness — was  it  their  natural  light,  or  only  the  reflected 
glory  of  the  vestal  moon's  white  radiance  ? 

"You  look  prayerful,"  he  said  to  her,  suddenly.  "Are 
the  stars,  to  your  eyes,  the  '  little  chinks  of  heaven  '  your 
fellow-poet  calls  them  ?  " 

"  Surely  you  cannot  mean  to  imply  that  Colorado  is  not 
1  high  as  heaven '  itself  ?  "  she  replied,  mischievously. 

"  Ah  !  So  the  natives  have  been  spinning  their  yarns  of 
altitude,  and  you,  a  new-comer  to  Colorado,  have  breath 
enough  left  to  laugh  at  them.  Evidently,  heights  are 
your  natural  plane.  And  speaking  of  our  rare  atmos- 
phere, Miss  Sterling,  do  you  know  that  its  physical  effects 
upon  the  unacclirnated  are  not  half  as  wonderful  as  the 
occasional  spiritual  phenomena  exhibited  in  the  born 
mountaineer?  An  incident  came  to  my  notice  to-day 
which  I  hesitate  to  relate,  it  is  so  incredible,  naturally 
considered.  But  you  will  consider  it  poetically,  so  I  may 
venture  to  confide  it" 

A  sudden  impulse  had  seized  him  to  show  himself  at 
his  best  to  this  pure-eyed  girl,  in  whose  presence,  in  spite 
of  himself,  he  felt  a  reverence  which  no  other  woman  had 


A  SOW  OF  ESAU.  73 

evoked.  He  knew  that  the  story  he  had  to  tell  would  touch 
her ;  he  knew  that  he  could  tell  it  well  He  possessed 
an  eloquence  of  voice  which  set  off  his  eloquence  of  words 
as  the  music  the  lines  of  a  song.  He  had  taken  off  his 
hat,  and  his  handsome  head  was  outlined  in  relief  against 
the  vine-shadowed  trellis.  In  his  easy  unconscious  pose 
he  suggested  a  gladiator  at  rest,  his  noble  physique  pre- 
senting the  grace  of  passive  power,  which,  to  a  feminine 
eye,  is  the  most  irresistible  of  all  masculine  attractions. 

"In  our  county  asylum,"  he  began,  "was  a  blind  girl 
born  of  parents  who  emigrated  from  the  southern  ranges 
— mountaineers  for  generations  back.  A  year  ago  her 
strength  began  to  fail,  and  as  death  approached  she  grew 
more  and  more  restless.  She  could  not  '  die  without  see- 
ing it,'  was  her  constant  cry,  though  she  never  specified 
her  soul's  desire.  A  few  hours  before  her  death,  which 
occurred  some  days  ago,  she  awakened  to  sight,  the  poor 
blind  eyes  illumined  by  an  ante-heavenly  light.  One  ex- 
pected to  witness  rapture  at  the  sudden  revelation,  but  her 
eyes  betrayed  only  disappointment,  yearning,  distress. 
The  sight  of  her  mother's  face  caused  her  only  a  faint 
pleasure,  the  reflection  of  her  own  but  passing  interest. 
She  was  lifted  to  the  window — it  looked  across  the  prairie 
to  the  town ;  she  only  shook  her  head.  At  the  further 
end  of  the  ward  was  a  western  window,  commanding  a 
view  of  the  mountains,  towering  that  sunlit  afternoon 
like  gold-throned,  purple-robed  monarchs  crowned  with 
glistening  snow.  One  glance,  and  her  face  was  transfig- 
ured. It  had  been  plain  even  to  ugliness  :  it  was  sud- 
denly beautiful  with  the  glory  of  a  triumphant  soul.  All 
at  once  the  light  faded  from  her  eyes,  the  lids  closed  over. 
'I  have  seen  it,'  she  cried.  And  sunk  back,  dead!  " 

" Poor  creetur,"  murmured  old  John  Harriman,  "but 


74  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

she's  better'r  off,  better'r  off !  Wai,  now !  Ter  think  as 
she's  wi'  mother." 

The  little  group  sauntered  down  the  path  in  silence. 
As  Steele  reached  the  gate  his  mare  strained  toward  him, 
whinnying  softly.  She  was  a  beautiful  creature,  powerful, 
but  graceful  as  a  small  head,  arched  crest,  clean  limbs, 
and  slanting  shoulders  could  make  her ;  roan  in  color, 
with  sheeny,  satiny  hide. 

"  O  you  pet,  you  darling,  you  beauty  !  "  cooed  Isolde, 
caressing  the  soft  nose  gently  rubbed  against  her. 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  ride  her,  Isolde  ? "  asked 
Althea. 

The  question,  unsuspected  by  Isolde,  was  a  challenge. 
Steele  chose  to  accept  it. 

"Ladybird  is  not  a  lady's  mount,"  he  said,  "but  I 
have  a  bay,  swift  as  the  wind,  gentle  as  a  baby,  which  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  offer  Miss  Sterling — if  I  may." 

"  Certainly,"  tantalized  Althea.  "  It  is  a  man's  privilege 
to  'offer.'" 

"  And  a  woman's  to  accept "  laughed  Isolde,  veiling  her 
blushing  face  in  the  mare's  silky  mane. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Sterling,"  said  Steele,  a  flash  of 
gratification  in  his  eyes.  "Since  you  agree  with  me,  I 
can  afford  to  leave  Mrs.  Rounds  to  her  theory  that  a 
woman's  privilege  is — to  reject." 

"  Scarcely  her  privilege  ;  only  her  wiser  alternative  ! " 
retorted  Althea,  over  her  shoulder. 


CHAPTEK  VII. 

THE    COST    AND    THE    PAIN. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  young  banker  that  he  did 
not  hasten  to  claim  the  fulfilment  of  Isolde's  promise. 
Possibly  he  claimed  it  the  less  promptly  because  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  he  was  conscious  of  impatience  at  the  self- 
imposed  delay.  Nearly  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  his 
call  at  the  Ledge,  when  he  rode  up  to  the  gate  at  night- 
fall, leading  a  second  mare,  a  small,  sleek  bay,  by  the 
rein. 

Isolde  met  him  as  he  dismounted,  her  hands  full  of 
sugar.  Althea  followed,  carrying  her  gauntlets  and  rid- 
ing-crop. The  thought  struck  the  young  man  that  the 
respective  burdens  were  appropriately  apportioned.  As 
she  stood  off,  taking  admiring  note  of  the  bay  mare's 
points, 'the  made  a  somewhat  similar  inventory  of  her  own. 
He  liked  her  trim  dark  habit  with  its  suggestion  of  snowy 
linen  at  throat  and  wrists ;  the  coquettish  poise  of  the 
little  derby  on  her  fair  head  ;  her  neat,  high  riding-boots, 
her  soft  tan  gauntlets,  her  sturdy  crop.  Every  graceful 
curve  of  her  girlish  figure  was  outlined  by  the  severe, 
close-fitting  habit,  above  which  glowed  her  vivid  face,  like 
a  warm-hued  picture  from  a  sombre  frame.  As  her  foot 
rested  in  his  hand,  he  noticed  the  lithe  spring  of  its  ball 
from  his  palm,  and  the  curve  of  the  high  arched  instep. 
Handing  her  the  rein,  he  caught  a  breath  of  the  same 
sweet  fragrance  that  he  had  noticed  about  her  on  the 


7G  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

night  of  the  club-dance.  Nothing  escaped  him ;  all 
pleased  him.  As  they  turned  from  the  Ledge  he  threw 
an  eloquent  backward  glance  at  Althea  ;  but  she  did  not 
see  it  She  was  leaning  on  the  gate,  with  her  face  toward 
them  ;  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  thoughtfully,  almost  sadly, 
on  the  ground. 

The  evening  was  one  of  the  perfect  evenings  met  in  the 
West,  at  the  season  when,  while  the  winter  snows  still 
linger  on  the  mountains,  spring,  youthful  on  the  hills, 
seems  to  mature  in  the  valley,  thrilled  with  the  premoni- 
tion of  approaching  passioned  June.  The  breath  of  a 
recent  shower  was  on  the  air,  its  dew-like  drops  still 
sparkling  on  the  fresh  young  grass.  In  the  east,  the 
sapphire  sky  was  darkening  ;  the  sun's  red  disc  was  sink- 
ing in  the  west.  Over  the  mountains  the  night-mists 
curled  and  colored,  brushed  by  the  sunset's  radiating 
wing.  The  gurgle  of  the  Freshet  waters  blended  with  the 
murmur  of  the  wind  through  the  cottonwoods.  From 
their  half-built  nests  in  the  tree-tops  piped  the  vespering 
birds  of  spring. 

"  How  do  you  like  her  gait  ?"  he  asked,  as  they  halted 
after  a  trial  canter. 

"  It  is  perfect !  "  eulogized  Isolde.  "  The  saddle  is 
like  a  cradle.  And,  by  the  way,  what  a  handsome  saddle 
it  is !  I  seem  to  have  a  more  secure  seat  than  in  Al- 
thea's." 

"  You  like  the  third  horn.  It  lessens  the  fatigue  of  a 
ride,  and  insures  a  firm  seat.  When  you  are  an  experi- 
enced horsewoman,  however,  you  will  not  need  it.  Does 
the  slipper-stirrup  suit  you  ?  It  is  the  safer  style  for  a 
woman.  In  case  of  a  throw,  there  is  no  danger  of  being 
dragged." 

"  I  prefer  to  hear  that  there  is  no  danger  of  a  throw," 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  77 

slie  laughed.  "  I  may  as  well  confess  it  here  and  now, 
Mr.  Harriman,  physical  courage  is  not  my  strong  point." 

"  Suppose  we  test  it  by  a  race  to  the  cross-roads  ?  You 
are  certain  that  everything  is  quite  secure?  Then,  one, 
two,  three,  and— off !  " 

They  galloped  side  by  side  over  the  level  road.  As  the 
wind  whistled  by  them,  the  air  seemed  filled  with  flash- 
ing crystals.  Myriad  sparks  danced  and  coruscated  be- 
fore Isolde's  eyes.  Laughing  and  panting,  with  rose-red 
cheeks  and  glowing  parted  lips,  she  reached  the  goal,  and 
wheeling  her  mare  about,  faced  Ladybird,  struggling 
against  the  check  that  held  her  a  neck's  length  behind. 
As  he  rode  up,  Steele  bared  his  head. 

"  Hail  to  the  victor !  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  not  a  noble  victory  !  "  she  protested. 
"  You  held  Ladybird  in." 

"  I  never  give  her  her  head,"  he  evaded.  "  She  always 
feels  the  curb.  Eh,  old  girl  ?  "  stroking  her  arched  neck 
fondly. 

The  mare  turned  her  head,  and  responded  to  the  rare 
caress  with  limpid,  loving  eyes. 

The  silence  of  night  had  fallen,  broken  only  by  the  reg- 
ular thud  of  the  mares'  hoofs  falling  like  muffled  drum- 
beats on  the  ground.  Into  the  sky  flashed  the  sentinel 
stars,  ranging  for  midnight  muster.  In  the  roadside-grass 
the  locusts  were  chirping  loudly,  heralding,  so  says  the 
legend,  the  summer's  warm  approach. 

Of  a  sudden  the  hush  was  broken,  not  as  the  young 
man  had  proposed  that  his  words  should  break  it — but  by 
the  sound  of  hoofs  speeding  toward  them,  urged  on  by 
shouts  and  cheers.  The  road  into  which  they  had  turned 
was  hedged  in  by  pine  and  brush.  Its  only  open  outlet  lay 
a  mile  or  moi'e  ahead,  the  one  behind  them  being  cut  off 


78  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

by  their  pursuers.  As  Ladybird  pricked  up  her  ears  and 
began  to  champ  on  the  bit,  he  suddenly  caught  the  bay's 
rein,  and  urged  both  horses  to  a  fierce  gallop.  A  glance 
at  Isolde's  startled  face  and  swaying  form,  however,  as 
their  speed  increased,  showed  him  that  the  wild  pace 
could  not  be  sustained.  Altering  his  intention,  he  turned 
the  mares'  heads,  facing  about  to  meet  the  advancing 
ridei*s.  Visions  of  Indians,  with  warwhoop  and  tomahawk, 
of  masked  road-agents,  armed  with  cocked  revolvers, 
of  riotous  cowboys,  bent  on  a  night's  wild  spree,  flitted 
before  Isolde's  mental  eyes.  Happily,  her  suspense  was 
but  brief.  In  a  swirl  of  dust  and  babel  of  sound,  the 
riders  galloped  up,  proving  to  be  the  merry  young  people 
of  the  neighborhood,  whose  social  custom  it  was,  on  even- 
ings when  no  indoor  pleasure  claimed  them,  to  ride  to  a 
common  meeting-place,  whence  they  set  out  in  couples 
for  a  canter  into  the  country.  These  parties,  in  spite 
of  fine  horse-flesh  and  splendid  riding,  presented  to  the 
Eastern  eye  a  somewhat  unique  appearance.  The  men, 
as  a  rule,  wore  sombreros,  and  gaudy  neck-scarfs  with 
flying  ends  ;  the  girls  were  partial  to  jerseys  of  brilliant 
colors,  and  to  caps  or  hats  of  unconventional  styles. 
Gold  neck-chains  hung  with  elaborate  pendants  were 
likewise  prominent  features  of  their  toilets.  Isolde's  se- 
verely plain  habit,  indeed,  was  looked  down  upon  by  the 
native  feminine  eye — perhaps  the  more  scornfully  be- 
cause the  masculine  eye  proved  prone  to  look  up  to  it 
Not  the  habit,  however,  but  the  girl  inside  the  habit,  was 
the  attraction. 

As  the  present  party  bore  down  upon  them,  hallooing  a 
noisy  greeting,  Steele  lifted  his  hand  and  waved  them 
back  imperatively.  The  spirited  mares  were  almost  be- 
yond his  control. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  79 

"  Fools  !  "  he  exclaimed,  angrily,  "  You  seem  to  over- 
look the  fact  that  I  have  a  lady  with  me,"  he  called  out, 
riding  toward  them  as  they  slackened  their  pace  in  obedi- 
ence to  his  gesture. 

"  No,  we  overlooked  the  fact  that  the  lady  had  you  with 
her,"  retorted  one  of  the  leaders.  "Miss  Sterling  is 
the  attraction,  not  you,  Harriman." 

"Miss  Sterling  would  prefer  not  to  be  ridden  down, 
even  as  a  token  of  admiration,"  he  replied,  surlily.  He 
was  annoyed  not  only  that  the  girl  had  been  startled, 
but  also  by  the  intrusion.  He  had  encountered  these 
parties  before,  under  somewhat  similar  circumstances, 
and  foresaw  that  the  pleasure  of  his  ride  was  at  an 
end. 

"  I  was  not  frightened,"  Isolde  said,  striving  to  assuage 
his  resentment,  "and  they  meant  kindly.  Please  say 
nothing  more ;  and  I  think  you  may  trust  me  with  my 
reins  now.  She  seems  quite  quiet." 

He  had  forgotten  that  he  still  held  the  bay's  bridle, 
and  released  it  with  a  word  of  apology.  Milly  Hunter 
rode  to  the  front  just  in  time  to  observe  the  little  inci- 
dent. 

"  In  leading-strings  already  ?  "  she  asked,  audaciously. 
"But  the  strings  were  in  the  wrong  hands,  weren't 
they  ?  Take  my  advice,  and  don't  be  led  by  any  man, 
Miss  Sterling.  The  strings  turn  to  chains  in  his 
hands." 

"In  his  hands,"  emphasized  her  echo,  from  the  rear. 

Steele  saw  Isolde  flush,  and  caught  a  gleam  of  indig- 
nant pride  in  her  gentle  eyes. 

"  Shut  up,  Milly,"  he  said  with  familiar  rudeness ;  "  and 
do  not  let  us  interrupt  your  ride.  Miss  Sterling  and  I 
are  not  going  your  way." 


80  A  SON   OF  ESAU. 

"  Of  course  not,"  rallied  Milly's  escort.  "Who  would 
go  our  way,  in  your  place,  Harrirnan  '? " 

"  Life  is  fleeting,  youth  is  brief, 
Love  is  only  a  springtime  leaf ; 
Bud  of  April,  bloom  of  May, 
Dead  ere  the  Summer's  first  June  day." 

As  the  rollicking  voice  died  away,  the  party  caught  up 
the  chorus. 

"  Bud  of  April,  bloom  of  May, 
Pluck  and  wear,  ere  it  fades  away. 
Ah  !  how  fleeting,  ah  !  how  brief ; 
Love  is  only  a  springtime  leaf." 

At  another  time  the  rude  jests  would  not  have  annoyed 
the  young  man,  but  at  the  present  moment,  he  resented 
them  with  disproportionate  bitterness.  Without  a  glance 
at  the  girl  beside  him,  he  knew  instinctively  that  she  was 
shrinking  from  him.  His  anger  grew  no  less  as  Jack 
Holbrook  came  riding  out  of  the  ranks  toward  her.  Hap- 
pily his  face  was  in  shadow,  or  its  tell-tale  scowl  would 
have  evoked  further  witticism. 

"  I  called  at  the  Ledge,  but  Harriman  had  the  advan- 
tage of  me,"  Jack  was  saying  to  Isolde,  as  he  saluted  her. 
"  On  my  way  back  I  fell  in  with  the  party,  but  I  am  not 
enjoying  it  at  all." 

"  No  ?    Why  not  ?  "  asked  Isolde. 

His  boyish  face  flushed.  He  answered  with  averted 
eyes,  lashing  the  roadside  grass  with  his  whip,  as  he 
spoke. 

"  O,  I  don't  care  for  these  romping  parties  any  more  ! " 
he  said.  "  I  surmise  I've  outgrown  them.  I'm  outgrow- 
ing everything  that  is  not — one  thing,  nowadays." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  81 

" '  Everything  that  is  not  one  thing,'  you  incoherent 
boy  !  "  she  laughed,  without  a  suspicion  of  his  meaning. 
"  And  pray  what  is  the  one  thing  ?  " 

"  May  I  really  tell  you,  some  time? "  he  asked,  eagerly, 
flushing  up  to  his  girlish  blue  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

Steele  turned  to  Isolde. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  turn  back,"  he  said.  "  I  think 
you  will  not  enjoy  riding  with  the  party.  The  mare  will 
be  restless." 

As  the  party  rode  on,  Milly  Hunter,  wheeling  about 
with  a  laugh,  called  to  Jack,  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Going  to  play  gooseberry,  Jack  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Gooseberry,  Jack  ?  "  queried  Cilly. 

"  Don't  be  a  spoil-sport,  Jackie  dear,"  implored  Miss 
Linnett.  "Come  back  where  you'll  be  welcome." 

Isolde  turned  to  him  with  a  bright  flush  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  ride  back  with  us  ?  "  she 
asked. 

He  looked  at  Steele,  and  hesitated. 

"  I  wish  it,"  she  said. 

Without  a  word  he  turned  with  her,  followed  by  the 
laughs  and  jeers  of  the  mischievous  observers. 

Steele  stared  straight  before  him  with  sullen  eyes.  The 
ride  was  spoiled  for  him,  nevertheless  he  acknowledged  that 
neither  Isolde  nor  Jack  was  at  fault.  The  blame  lay  with 
the  brainless,  malicious  boors  and  fools  behind  them. 
Could  they  not  see  that  this  girl  was  different  from  them, 
unused  to  their  coarse  "chaff,"  and  outraged  by  it? 
Would  she  judge  him  by  his  social  associations  ?  Behind 
clenched  teeth,  he  swore  that  she  should  not.  The  party 
had  galloped  out  of  sight.  A  road,  a  branch  of  the  high- 
way, trailed  like  a  ribbon  through  the  prairie  toward  them. 
As  they  reached  it  Jack  halted,  and  lifted  his  hat. 


82  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  I  think  I  must  say  good-evening  here,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  some  commissions  for  town,  and  it  is  getting  late.  If 
you  are  not  engaged  for  to-morrow  evening,  Miss  Ster- 
ling, I  should  like  to  take  you  for  a  spin  behind  my  new 
sorrels." 

"With  great  pleasure,"  accepted  Isolde,  cordially. 
"  Thank  you." 

She  looked  after  him  as  he  rode  away,  nodding  over 
her  shoulder  to  him. 

"  He  is  not  quite  his  usual  bright  self  to-night,"  she 
said,  as  he  rode  out  of  sight  "  I  think  he  is  such  a  dear 
boy,  do  not  you  ?  " 

Steele's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  did  not  think  so  a  moment  ago,"  he  admitted,  "  but 
distance  lends  enchantment.  He's  not  half  a  bad  fellow 
— a  mile  away." 

Her  smile  in  response  to  his  was  somewhat  con- 
strained. She  was  not  quite  sure  of  the  meaning  his 
words  were  intended  to  convey  to  her.  Gallant  innuen- 
does from  admiring  young  men  were  a  novelty  to  her. 
She  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  parry  them. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  turning  a  sudden  keen  glance  upon 
her,  "he  is  not  such  a  boy.  He  is  six  or  seven  and 
twenty.  It  is  never  safe  to  rely  too  much  upon  the  boy- 
ishness of  a  young  man." 

"  O,  but  he  seems  such  a  boy,"  she  insisted,  "  always 
so  light-hearted  and  happy !  I  cannot  fancy  him  a  man, 
taking  life  gravely  and  earnestly.  I  suppose  his  is  what 
is  called  a  '  sunny '  disposition.  All  his  days  are  golden 
days.  A  happy  fate,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Very,  while  it  lasts,"  he  replied.  "  Unless  I  mistake, 
however,  his  golden  days  are  numbered." 

"  O,  why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  83 

"  If  I  told  you  why,  you  would  not  forgive  me.  The 
case  is  one  of  circumstantial  evidence,  which  you  would 
refuse  to  accept  as  proof.  Holbrook,  by  the  way,  is  not 
a  bad  specimen  of  the  native  type  of  youth.  But,  of 
course,  you  know  the  type  by  this  time,  not  only  gener- 
ally, but  individually.  One  has  to  know  everyone  in  this 
primitive  social  region." 

"Primitive?  Yes,"  she  admitted,  "since  it  has  not 
yet  outgrown  the  primal  creed  of  universal  human  broth- 
erhood, as  taught  by  Christ." 

"I  bow  to  the  rebuke,  Miss  Sterling." 

"  I  was  not  presuming  to  rebuke  you,  Mr.  Harriman. 
I  simply  spoke  my  thought.  Your  West,  socially,  is  such 
a  beautiful  contrast  to  my  East,  where  anyone  outside  of 
the  little  sphere  of  capitalized  Society  is  left,  socially 
speaking,  in  isolation.  I  speak,  who  know,  because  I  was 
one  of  the  isolated." 

"  By  your  own  choice,  of  course,"  he  said,  somewhat 
embarrassed  by  her  frankness. 

"  No,  by  Hobsou's  choice,"  she  laughed,  "  but  my  iso- 
lation did  not  hurt  me.  Only  now  and  then  the  suspicion 
came  to  me  that  something  was  lacking  in  my  life — a 
sweet  something,  which  it  was  sad  and  wrong  that  a 
young  life  should  miss.  What  that  sweet  something  was, 
your  West  revealed  to  me,  when  it  opened  my  book  of 
life  at  the  page  Humana." 

He  listened  to  her  with  increasing  interest.  Her  sim- 
plicity at  once  amused  and  touched  him.  How  charming 
her  childish  confessions  were  ;  how  piquant,  how  pathetic  ! 
She  was  speaking  of  having  missed  something  in  her  life. 
Of  a  sudden  he  felt  an  extraordinary,  irrational  impulse  to 
cry  out  to  her  that  up  to  this  moment  he,  too,  had  missed 
something — that  he  must  miss  it  forever,  if  she — if  she — 


84  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

his  thought  went  no  farther,  "but  incomplete  as  it  was,  he 
saw  that  its  betrayal  in  his  face  had  startled  her.  She 
was  suddenly  self-conscious.  He  averted  his  eyes,  and 
replied  earnestly. 

"  Its  social  aspect  aside,"  he  said,  "  life  in  a  great 
metropolis  like  New  York  must  be  an  inspiration,  a  stim- 
ulant,' an  incentive  ;  while  country-life  is  a  clog.  In  the 
one  a  man  lives  ;  in  the  other  he  only  exists.  Counti*y- 
life  is  still-life  ;  city-life,  action  ;  and  it  takes  action, 
friction,  competition,  to  develop  human  life  to  its 
highest  and  fullest  extent.  The  mere  atmosphere  of 
the  great  city  is  stimulating.  The  great  smoke-puffing 
chimneys,  the  immense  factories  swarming  with  hu- 
man life,  and  pulsating  like  living  creatures,  with  their 
mighty  cogs  and  wheels ;  the  rush  of  aerial  traffic  ;  the 
street-cars  sweeping  along  their  tracks  ;  the  carriages 
rolling  over  the  pavements ;  the  rattle  of  carts  and 
wagons ;  the  whistle  and  roar  of  engines  speeding  by 
with  their  living  freight — above  all,  the  mighty  human 
concourse  coming  and  going,  crowding  and  jostling, 
meeting  and  passing  by  day  and  night — all  act  like  a 
spur  upon  the  human  animal,  and  start  him  on  the  race  ! 
The  race  for  the  goal  of  Finance,  the  race  for  the  goal 
of  Politics — the  rival  powers  that  with  more  than  auto- 
cratic pride,  more  than  royal  pomp  and  splendor,  rule 
our  American  Republic  of  to-day.  Politics  sits  the 
throne,  but  Finance  holds  the  court  and  palace  !  The 
great  financial  enterprises  of  the  day  allure  with  dazzling, 
irresistible  attraction.  The  splendid  whir  of  Specula- 
tion's golden  wheel  draws  one  toward  it  impellently  as 
the  whirlpool  draws  the  spar.  It  holds  unlimited  scope 
for  energies,  stimulation  for  lassitude,  Nepenthe  for 
unrest — action,  excitement,  risk.  Politics  for  maturity  I 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  85 

Finance,  with  its  golden  ensign,  is  the  glittering  god  of 
youth !  " 

He  waved  his  cap  with  an  excited  triumphant  gesture. 
His  eyes  flashed,  his  voice  rang  out  exultantly.  Isolde 
sighed.  A  premonition  had  come  to  her  girlish  heart 
of  the  defeat  and  failure  to  which  such  wild  ambition  as 
this  man  avowed,  was  fore-doomed. 

To  the  social  isolation  of  her  solitary  young  life  she 
had  confessed  quite  simply,  not  suspecting  that  the  pain 
of  it,  which  her  dreamful  soul  had  but  dimly  recognized, 
was  fully  comprehended  by  the  young  banker.  A  social 
need,  formerly  unrealized,  but  felt  somewhat  bitterly,  of 
late — a  need  of  sympathetic  and  congenial  companion- 
ship, of  refined  social  associations  not  exclusively  mascu- 
line, explained,  he  now  told  himself,  the  disproportionate 
charm  and  influence  which  his  intercourse  with  Isolde 
was  gradually  assuming.  That  he  was  attracted  by  her 
he  could  not  but  realize.  Had  she  attracted  him  after  the 
natural  manner,  as  he  miscalled  it,  of  girls  of  other  types, 
he  would  have  yielded  with  the  half-contemptuous  pleas- 
ure with  which  men  do  yield  to  influences  which  touch 
the  lowest,  not  the  highest,  in  them.  It  was  because  she 
touched  his  highest  that  he  resisted  her  spell.  On  the 
Saturday  evening  following  his  ride  with  her  he  took  the 
"  flyer  "  for  Denver,  there  to  "  make  a  night  of  it,"  a  fleshly 
tonic  of  which  he  felt  in  need.  In  fact,  he  made  two 
nights  and  a  day  of  it,  and  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  at 
their  end.  A  deeper  plunge  of  the  kind  might  have  re- 
sulted as  he  desired,  but  when  too  late  he  realized  that 
the  surface-dip  was  a  mistake.  It  intensified  the  fever  it 
had  been  intended  to  calm.  In  characteristic  defiance  he 
turned  back  to  the  Ledge. 

Formerly,   the  young  banker's  frequent  visits  to  the 


86  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Ledge  had  evoked  the  general  verdict  that  George  Rounds 
was  a  fool.  Now  they  evoked  only  the  whisper  that  Althea 
Rounds  was  a  clever  woman.  As  she  had  once  smiled  her 
defiance  of  the  first  verdict,  so  she  now  smiled  her  indif- 
ference to  the  second.  Not  by  little  Newfield  was  Althea 
to  be  turned  out  of  her  elected  way. 

To  do  Althea  justice,  her  way  was  not  the  openly  match- 
making one  that  feminine  Newfield  suspected.  To  this, 
Steele  Harriman's  lowering  brow  bore  frequent  testimony. 
It  was  Althea's  bitter  delight  to  make  his  proud  brow 
lower.  She  developed  a  perfect  genius  for  assigning 
Isolde  to  Jack  Holbrook,  when  both  young  men  approached 
her  on  equal  grounds  ;  for  recollecting  hitherto  unmen- 
tioned  engagements,  and  hurrying  off  the  girl  to  fulfil 
them,  at  any  and  every  hour  of  the  young  banker's  ap- 
pearance. The  little  contradictions  did  no  harm — perhaps 
they  were  intended  to  do  none.  They  challenged  both 
his  vanity  and  the  proud  imperiousness  of  his  despotic 
nature :  they  kept  his  interest  on  the  qui  vive,  and  were  like 
narcotics  to  Isolde's  unconsciously  awakening  sensitive- 
ness. In  spite  of  Althea's  manoeuvres,  their  acquaintance 
grew.  Steele  Harrimau  had  sworn  that  it  should  grow. 

As  is  inevitably  the  case  when  two  congenial  young 
persons  are  thrown  much  into  each  other's  society,  their 
intercourse  became  familiar,  even  intimate  ;  their  talk, 
personal.  Not  all  at  once,  deliberately,  but  little  by 
little,  in  impulsive  slips  and  snatches,  Steele  told  the  girl 
his  life — as  far  as  he  chose  to  tell  it :  of  his  childhood, 
free,  untrammelled,  in  its  primitive  surroundings,  as  the 
flight  of  a  young  eaglet  along  the  mountain-peaks ;  of  his 
boyhood,  daring,  reckless,  exuberant,  a  riotous  revel  of  con- 
scious life  and  youth  and  animal  strength  and  spirits.  He 
told  her  of  his  youth,  of  books,  companions,  ideals,  of  spirit- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  87 

ual  forces  that  weakened  with  the  mental,  to  grapple  with 
the  material  ones  leaping  strong-limbed  from  the  cradle 
of  youthful,  vigorous,  healthful  human  years  ;  of  the  bat- 
tles fought  between  soul  and  body,  when  physical  Nature, 
Nature  the  Force,  the  Evolver ;  Nature  the  Cause,  the  Ef- 
fect— the  Infinite  Whole  of  which  his  individual  human 
nature  was  but  a  finite  unit  part,  cried  to  him,  "  /  am 
soul,  I  am  mind,  I  am  body  !  Of  me  all  is  conceived,  of 
me  brought  forth ;  to  me  all  shall  come  back !  Of  me 
is  time :  in  me  is  eternity  !  I  am  life,  I  am  death  !  I  am 
the  creator,  I  am  the  destroyer  !  I  am  the  beginning,  I  am 
the  end  I "  Ho  told  her  of  the  maturer  years,  when,  the 
materialistic  phase  outlived,  he  had  lost  himself  in  the  con- 
templation of  human  source  and  issue  ;  of  life  finite  and  in- 
finite ;  of  its  human  brevity,  its  spiritual  immortality ;  of 
the  riddle  of  existence,  of  the  divine  and  human  solutions  ; 
of  the  doubt,  the  dark,  the  chaos  that  lay  between.  He 
told  her  of  the  four  voices,  wakening  one  by  one  to  solve 
life's  questions  for  him  ;  the  voices  of  Soul,  and  Mind,  and 
Heart,  and  Body. 

"  God,"  cries  the  voice  of  the  Soul,  "  God  Who  was  be- 
fore us,  God  Who  will  be  after  us ! 

"  God  the  One,  God  the  Only ! 

"God  the  Creator,  God  the  Life-Giver,  God  the  De- 
stroyer ! 

"  All  save  God  is  nothing  ;  and  nothing  is,  save  God ! 

"To  live  for  God,  to  die  for  God — this  is  life,  this  is 
death  ;  this  is  humanity,  this  is  immortality ! 

"  For  God,  and  God  alone !  "  cries  the  Soul. 

"Lore  ! "  cries  the  voice  of  the  Mind.  "Lore,  the  resur- 
rection of  the  past ;  lore,  the  immortality  of  the  present ; 
lore,  the  revelation  of  the  future  ! 


88  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"Lore,  the  omniscience;  lore,  the  omnipresence ;  lore, 
the  eternal ! 

"  All  save  lore  is  a  myth  ;  all  save  lore  is  falsehood  ;  lore 
alone  is  reality ;  lore  alone  is  truth  ! 

"  Lore  is  the  apocalypse  of  God,  lore  is  the  evidence  of 
man ! 

"  Lore  is  the  solution  of  all,  lore  is  the  revealer  of  all ! 

"Lore  is  all,"  cries  the  Mind. 

"  Life  !  "  cries  the  voice  of  the  Body.  "  Young,  sweet, 
rapturous  human  life ! 

"  The  life  of  the  flesh,  the  life  of  the  blood,  the  life  of 
the  senses ! 

"  There  was  nothing  before  life,  there  will  be  nothing 
after  life  !  Life  is  the  beginning,  life  is  the  end  ! 

"Drain  all  earth's  nectar,  breathe  all  earth's  fragrance, 
hearken  all  earth's  song !  Satiate  the  flesh  with  all  sweet 
fleshly  pleasures  ;  brim  the  blood  with  all  sweet  sensual 
human  draughts  ! — this  is  the  one  life — this  is  the  only 
life! 

"  Life  !  life  !  life  !  "  cries  the  Body. 

"  Love  ! "  cries  the  voice  of  the  Heart."  Love  the  Divine, 
love  the  human,  love  the  Divine-human  ! 

"In  love  God  created  us,  in  love  Christ  redeemed  us. 

"In  love  we  are  begotten,  in  love  we  are  brought 
forth ! 

"  In  human  love's  successive  stages — filial,  fraternal, 
friendly,  philanthropical,  romantic,  conjugal,  parental,  we 
live. 

"  In  Divine  Love,  the  first  love,  the  last  love,  we  die  ! 

"  Love  is  God  !     Love  is  lore  !     lore  is  life  ! 

"  Love  !  Love  !  Love  !  "  cries  the  Heart 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  89 

And  so,  like  four  strong  foes,  they  tilt  at  each  other ; 
and  the  Heart  stabs  the  Mind,  and  the  Mind  stabs  the 
Soul,  and  the  Soul  stabs  the  Body,  and  the  Body  stabs  all 
three ! 

He  told  her  of  a  man's  first  conscious  conception  of  the 
great  struggling,  striving  human  world  !  Of  the  sense  of 
expansion  infinite  almost  to  infinity,  with  which  the 
realization  of  independent  individuality,  of  personal  re- 
sponsibility, first  conies  ;  of  the  first  fruit  of  that  revela- 
tion, the  divine  impulse — the  human  resolve,  to  be,  to  do, 
not  as  the  lowest  tempts,  but  as  the  highest  inspires — to 
think,  speak,  act,  like  a  new  John,  "  giving  evidence  of 
the  light."  He  told  her  of  a  young  man's  dreams  of  a  life 
in  a  rarefied  atmosphere  far  above  the  material  plane  of  the 
mass  ;  consecrated  to  all  high,  noble,  beautiful  immaterial 
ends  ;  dreams  of  purification,  atonement,  regeneration — 
such  dreams,  alas,  as  come  to  all  youth,  and  go  from  all, 
and  leave  behind  only  the  bitterness  of  loss  ! 

In  return  she  had  little  to  tell  him  of  her  simple  life 
that  he  did  not  know  already — little  as  might  be  told  of 
the  cloister-lily,  sheltered  from  adverse  winds,  fostered 
by  gentle  hands,  steeping  its  petals  in  the  golden  sun- 
shine, storing  in  its  chalice  the  fall  of  fresh  young  dews ; 
a  little  lonely,  a  little  wistful,  dreaming  its  flower-dreams 
from  dawn  to  twilight,  keeping  its  virgin-vigils  by  moon 
and  star ;  waiting  its  perfect  bloom,  wondering  what  its 
bloom  shall  bring  it,  knowing  not  its  destiny  within  the 
chapel-shrine  !  Nevertheless,  he  listened  to  the  shy  tale, 
rapturously.  The  loneliness,  the  wistfulness,  the  dreams, 
the  waiting,  the  hope,  the  fear  and  wonder,  were  exqui- 
site revelations  of  her  maiden  heart.  If  a  shamed  half- 
fearful  suspicion  of  all  sue  was  revealing  ever  dawned 
upon  her,  he  assuaged  it  by  reciprocal  confidence,  and 


90  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

spontaneously,  freely,  blissfully,  both  gave  their  best,  and 
took! 

The  mutual  confidence  was  fraught  with  mutual  revela- 
tion. To  Isolde  it  opened  a  new  conception  of  masculine 
prowess,  to  see  how  Steele's  mind  grappled  with  all  na- 
tural and  human  problems,  daunted  by  no  difficulties, 
acknowledging  no  defeat ;  while  to  him  it  was  baffling, 
almost  incredible,  to  behold  the  elusive  problems  im- 
pervious to  the  cannon  and  shell  of  his  masculine 
charge,  vanish  like  wraiths  before  her  sophisms,  illogi- 
cal, unpremised,  and  undemonstrated,  but  nevertheless 
soaring  triumphantly  on  their  feminine  wings  over 
his  masculine  Hills  of  Difficulty.  Sometimes  he  laughed 
at  her,  and  sometimes  he  sighed  ;  but  most  frequently 
they  smiled  together.  The  smile  was  so  spontaneous 
that  even  Dr.  Keene,  watching  the  couple  with  anxious 
eyes,  reflected  it.  Althea  alone  did  not.  In  truth,  Althea 
in  those  days  was  not  a  happy  woman. 

There  is  no  more  pathetic  figure  in  this  pathos-full 
world,  than  that  of  a  woman  whose  past  of  sin  or  foil}-, 
refusing  to  be  laid,  confronts  her  like  a  haunting  spirit, 
with  mocking  vengeful  face.  Thus  Althea's  past  of  folly 
confronted  her  now.  Woman-like,  she  accredited  the 
masculine  memory  with  a  feminine  sensitiveness  and  con- 
stancy it  did  not  possess ;  and  the  thought  that  Steele,  as 
his  knowledge  of  Isolde  grew,  was  continually  contrasting 
her  with  the  sister  with  whom,  at  the  same  age,  he  had 
been  equally  familiar,  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  her  proud 
and  jealous  spirit.  In  fact,  the  young  man  was  doing- 
nothing  of  the  sort.  Had  Althea  been  as  wise  on  this 
subject  as  she  was  on  others,  however,  she  would  not  have 
been  a  woman.  In  truth,  she  was  most  unwise.  She  re- 
vived the  memories  she  would  have  given  half  her  life  to 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  91 

obliterate,  and  virtually  forced  him  to  draw  the  unfavor- 
able contrast  she  was  dreading. 

The  result  was  almost  as  painful  to  him  as  to  her.  At 
times,  in  Isolde's  presence,  with  a  repentant  mood  upon 
him,  he  felt  that  he  hated  Althea  ;  notwithstanding  which 
they  were  specious!}',  at  all  times,  the  best  of  friends.  In 
fact,  Isolde,  in  her  innocent  soul,  had  marvelled  more  than 
once  at  the  mysterious  intimacy  which  did  not  openly  de-. 
clare  itself,  but  which  occasional  unwatchful  moments  sug- 
gested or  betrayed.  Her  limited  experience  had  held  no 
precedent  of  such  social  illustration  of  the  Platonic  theory, 

"  He  called  you  '  Thea,'  "  she  said,  one  day  to  the  sister, 
gazing  at  her  with  puzzled,  questioning  eyes. 

It  had  been  an  intentional  slip  of  the  tongue  upon  his 
part,  which  Althea  had  hoped  unnoticed — a  slip  into  which 
her  own  folly  had  wilfully  betrayed  him.  If  she  chose  to 
be  reckless,  he  had  no  wish  to  restrain  her.  But  Althea 
did  not  choose,  thereafter.  Even  Dr.  Keene,  watching  the 
Ledge  with  suspicious,  vigilant  eyes,  could  not  but  admit 
that,  for  once,  Althea's  conduct  judged  as  Althea's  wras 
above  reproach.  Cognizant  of  the  old  doctor's  watchful- 
ness, she  did  not  resent  it.  On  the  contrary,  she  encou- 
raged his  constant  presence  at  the  Ledge  with  a  gracious- 
ness  which  irritated  him,  because  he  failed  to  divine  its 
motive.  In  truth,  Althea  knew  that  should  the  news  of 
Steele  Harriman's  renewed  intimacy  at  the  Ledge  reach 
George's  ears,  the  co-existent  presence  of  his  friend  and 
confidant,  Dr.  Keene,  would  leave  him  little,  if  anything, 
to  say. 

The  old  doctor's  interest  in  the  girl  deepened  as  he 
watched.  He  read  the  poems  of  her  pen  and  the  poem  of 
her  life,  simultaneously,  and  found  that  the  keynotes 
clashed.  One  day  he  told  her  as  much. 


92  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  You  are  trying  to  serve  two  masters,  Art  and  Nature," 
he  said,  "  and  their  claims  conflict.  Unless  one  yields, 
you  will  be  like  a  bird  of  which  both  earth  and  heaven 
hold  a  wing,  to  rend  its  heart  between  them.  Art  is  a 
hard  mistress,  but  a  harder  master.  Women  like  you  are 
born  for  sweeter  service.  Let  your  life  be  an  altar  to  your 
womanhood,  your  genius  its  holocaust.  You  will  miss 
some  joy,  yes ;  but  more  pain. 

"  *  The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  the  pain — 
For  the  reed  that  grows  never  more  again 
As  a  reed  with  Hie  reeds  of  tlie  rirer.* 

"The  laui-els  of  fame  are  for  man's  brow,  the  rose  of 
love,  for  the  woman's.  Resign  the  laurels,  and  escape — 
'  the  cost  and  the  pain  ! ' " 


CHAPTER  VUL 

TO  YOUTH'S  SWEET  PAGE. 

"  The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  tJwpain — 
For  the  reed  tJiat  grows  never  more  again 
As  a  reed  icith  the  reeds  of  the  river. '' 

The  words  haunted  Isolde.  They  sobbed  between  her 
and  the  young  bird's  music,  cast  a  shadow  between  her 
and  the  sunlit  skies.  They  were  like  a  minor  refrain  per- 
sistently threading,  with  wailing  undertone,  the  whole  glad 
melody  of  June.  A  phrase  that  she  had  read  recurred  to 
her — a  wonderful  phrase,  expressing  in  its  few  brief  words 
all  the  pathos  of  humanity. 

' '  Tlie  pain  of  the  woi'ld  ;  " 

it  ran 

"  The  pain  of  the  world. " 

She  repeated  the  sad  words  over  and  over,  shuddering 
with  a  mystic  premonitory  dread.  What  did  they  mean, 
what  could  they  mean,  in  this  beautiful,  bright,  youth- 
sweet,  life-thrilled,  exultant  summer  weather? 

"I  want  to  be  happy  ;"  she  cried  to  the  skies.  "O,  I 
want  to  be  happy." 

41  The  cost  and  Hie  pain  !  " 
sighed  the  grasses. 

"  The  pain  of  the  uwrld  !  " 
sobbed  the  pines. 


94:  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

But  Nature  passes  through  no  changeful  phase  that  does 
not  exercise  a  correspondent  influence  upon  her  human 
children.  With  her  our  hearts  warm,  quicken  from  bud 
to  blossom  ;  with  her  turn  reminiscent,  dead  faiths,  dead 
loves,  dead  dreams,  our  autumn  leaves  ;  with  her  we  know 
a  winter  drear,  chill,  wailing,  beneath  whose  snows  but 
slumber  the  song  and  sunshine,  the  bud  and  blossom,  the 
renewed  youth  and  revivified  life  of  spring.  Hence  not 
for  long  did  Isolde  hear  the  sighing  grasses,  the  sobbing 
pines.  She  was  young,  and  it  was  June,  and  the  birds 
were  singing  their  glad  young  songs  to  heaven,  and  her 
soul  sung  with  them,  the  gayest,  sweetest  singer  of  them 
all.  Not  the  pain  of  the  world,  but  the  perfect,  unalloyed, 
bewildering  joy  of  it,  was  soon  again  her  soul's  glad  ciy. 
Was  her  joy  from  without  or  within  ?  The  girl  did  not 
know,  but  Althea  did.  She  saw  all  with  her  calm  eyes, 
concealed  all  with  her  calm  smile.  So  the  eternal  Sphinx, 
mute,  inscrutable,  smiles  with  her  lips  of  stone. 

As  the  summer  advanced,  and  the  late  June  days  length- 
ened hour  by  hour,  as  if  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  the 
brief  life  left  them,  the  work,  the  play,  the  very  dreams  of 
Newfield  seemed  to  converge  toward  a  common  centre, — 
a  tract  of  land  whose  grassy  acres,  sweeping  from  the 
town-suburbs  to  the  dark  pinewoods  that  separated  the 
prairie-country  from  the  mountains,  were  known  as  the 
Fair-grounds.  Here  was  held  the  annual  cattle  and  agri- 
cultural show  of  the  country,  when  stock  of  royal  lineage 
neighed  and  lowed  and  baa'd  and  squeaked  according  to  its 
kind,  lustily  as  any  of  its  plebeian  kindred  ;  when  mam- 
moth fruits  and  vegetables  contested  for  badge  and  medal 
like  knights  for  their  ladies'  colors  ;  and  bins  of  glowing 
cobs  reflected  from  recent  huskings  the  blushes  of  maiden- 
victims  of  the  red  corn  ear.  Here,  also,  was  the  scene  of 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  95 

Newfield's  great  midsummer  festivity,  familiarly  called 
"the  picnic" — held  in  annual  patriotic  honor  of  tbe 
American  eagle  on  each  successive  Fourth.  For  weeks 
beforehand  the  town  was  in  a  hospitable  ferment  of  prep- 
aration. Passing  the  open-doored  cottages,  one  was 
conscious  of  a  succession  of  savory  odors  suggestive  of 
brimming  ovens,  and  well-stocked  larders,  and  pantries 
overflowing  with  pasty  sweets  ;  while  above,  at  sunny 
chamber-windows,  buzzed  swift  machines  cheerily  as  if 
they  knew  that  the  golden  threads  of  fond  young  hopes  and 
tender  dreams  were  woven  into  every  seam  of  the  pretty 
summer  gowns  taking  luring  shape  under  the  necromancy 
of  clever  feminine  hands.  Even  the  Ledge  caught  the 
prevailing  fever,  and  Althea,  invading  the  realm  of  the  rosy- 
cheeked  kitchen-maid,  whose  culinary  good-will  was 
equalled  only  by  its  resultant  evil  deeds,  retired  behind  a 
barricade  of  dough  and  batter,  and  opened  vigorous  fire 
•with  egg-beaters,  cream-whippers,  and  all  their  domestic 
kind.  Isolde,  since  she  had  been  entrusted  with  some 
raisins  to  stone,  to  be  discovered  some  hours  later,  compla- 
cently admiring  a  huge  bowl  of  carefully-preserved  seedy 
pulps,  while  the  raisins  proper,  which  the  cake  awaited,  lay 
beside  her  in  au  outcast  heap,  had  been  excused  from 
active  domestic  service,  and  in  lieu  thereof,  commissioned 
to  guard  Gaylord,  whose  spirits  rose  with  his  appetite,  as 
the  picnic  preparations  progressed. 

"  I'  ove  pitnits,"  he  confided  to  Isolde,  his  hands  full  of 
stolen  raisins.  "  I  'ove  pitnits,  an'  parties,  an'  yaisins, 
an' — an'  'ou  !  " 

"  That  thar  child  '11  bust  ef  he  don't  quit  stuffiu'," 
"  protested  the  culinary  oracle  engaged  for  the  occasion. 
"  I  know'd  a  little  boy  onct,  ez  snack'd  raisins  out  o'  his 
maw's  pantry,  au'  chok'd  on  'em,  an'  died  plum'-off !  " 


96  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Did  he  do  to  heav'iu  ?  "  queried  Gaylord  with  a  faco 
which  would  have  made  a  Sunday-school  principal  dream 
of  an  angel  unaware.  The  culinary  oracle,  however,  was 
severely  practical. 

"  He  didn't  git  ter  go  ter  th'  picnic  !  "  she  responded, 
significantly. 

Whereat  poor  little  Gaylord  ruefully  relinquished  the 
raisins,  and  fled  their  seductive  sight 

The  scene  presented  by  the  picnic  on  the  eventful  day 
was  a  varied  one.  Humble  vehicles  of  every  conceivable 
age,  size,  style  and  condition,  hitched  to  the  roadside 
trees  and  fences,  to  improvised  posts,  and  as  a  last  resort, 
to  one  another,  surrounded  the  grounds;  while  glossy 
chaises,  handsome  family  carry-alls,  jaunty  phaetons  and 
dashing  buckboards  whirled  about  the  inner  track.  To 
the  right  were  the  toy,  firework,  and  refreshment  booths  ; 
dilapidated  structures,  whose  veteran  legs  were  appropri- 
ately draped  in  patriotic  bunting.  Beyond  rose  the 
grove,  the  vestibule  of  deeper  woods,  beneath  whose 
swing  and  hammock-hung  trees  were  set  lavishly  spread 
guest-tables,  waited  upon  by  a  volunteer  committee  of 
rustic  youths  and  maidens.  On  the  eastern  edge  of  the 
grove  was  a  large  platform,  fronted  by  wooden  settees  de- 
jected in  appearance  as  if  they  realized  upon  what  evil 
days  they  had  fallen,  this  site  of  recent  Methodist  camp- 
meetings  being  now  prostituted  to  the  uses  of  worldly 
revellers  ;  even  the  planks  upon  which  the  ministerial 
soles  had  rested  now  being  profaned  by  light  feet  tripping 
to  round-dance  measures,  as  interpreted  by  the  Newfield 
brass  band.  From  a  stand,  situated  in  the  centre  of  the 
grounds  and  circled  by  the  racetrack,  the  more  conserva- 
tive element  of  Newfield  society  overlooked  the  scene, 
refreshing  the  inner  man  and  woman,  meantime,  with  sipa 


A  SOX  OF  ESAU.  97 

and  tastes  of  such  choice  cups  and  dishes  as  had  been 
reserved  for  the  social  elect.  Althea,  who  headed  the  list 
of  conservatives,  had  declined  all  invitations  for  Isolde ; 
and  permitted  her  only  to  overlook,  not  to  share,  the 
festivities.  Little  Graylord,  however,  protested  so  pathet- 
ically against  this  elegant  but  unsatisfactory  method  of 
picnicking,  that,  as  the  afternoon  wandered,  Isolde  won 
Allhea's  permission  to  make  with  him  a  democratic  tour 
of  the  grounds.  She  sauntered  from  booth  to  booth, 
from  swing  to  merry-go-round — each  and  all  of  which, 
with  a  lavishness  born  of  the  possession  of  a  bright  new 
silver  dollar,  Gaylord  insisted  upon  patronizing — uncon- 
scious that  after  a  short  chat  with  Steele  Harrimau, 
whose  handsome  bays  had  just  turned  into  the  gates, 
Althea  had  caught  up  her  reins  and  traitorously  driven 
homeward.  Sinking  into  a  seat  in  view  of  the  dancers, 
she  watched  them  for  a  moment  with  pleased  attention, 
and  then  drifted  into  a  day-dream,  from  which  Dr. 
Keene's  voice  aroused  her.  Her  expression  was  at  once 
wistful  and  tender,  as  the  expression  of  a  young  face  is 
apt  to  be  upon  which  the  light  of  pre-natal  heaven  has 
chanced  to  linger.  The  doctor,  taking  her  by  surprise, 
observed  the  light,  and  partially  understood  it. 

"  You   idealize   everything,"   he    complained.     "  That 
braying  brass  is  singing  to  you  with  the  voice  of  Gabriel's 
trumpet.     You  love  music.     Your  face  convicts  you." 
"  Yes,"  she  admitted,  "  I  love  it." 

"  As  the  dog  loves  the  hand  that  strikes  it.    O  woman  ! 
woman  !  " 

"  You  mean  that  it  hurts  me  ?    How  did  you  know  ?  " 
"  Never  mind  the  how.     Tell  me  why  it  hurts  you  ?  " 
"  I  suppose  because  it  is  always  so  sad.     Its  majors 
feign  to  overlaugh  them,  but  its  minors  are  always  sigh- 


98  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

ing,  sighing  underneath.  Listen  to  that  waltz-tune.  Do 
you  not  hear  the  plaintiveness  of  it  ?  It  is  like  the  laugh 
of  a  brave  soul,  beneath  which  the  heartbreak  sobs  un- 
stilled." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  hear  it.  Old  ears  do  hear  such  un- 
dertones, but  young  ears  should  not  recognize  them. 
'  The  cost  and  the  pain,'  "  as  I  warned  you  ;  "  '  the  cost 
and  the  pain.'  " 

"  Now,  Doctor — at  a  picnic  !  " 

"  Hang,  draw  and  quarter  picnics !  Must  one  talk 
only  fire-crackers  and  peanuts  at  them?  " 

"  Fi'-cwakers  an'  peanuts  is  nice,"  defended  Gaylord, 
loyally. 

"  So  are  mustard-plasters  and  castor-oil,  my  young 
man,"  retorted  the  doctor,  "  as  you  will  know  by  ex- 
perience before  this  time  to-morrow." 

"  The  violin  is  your  favorite  instrument,  of  course  ?  " 
he  resumed,  turning  back  to  Isolde.  "  Pan  made  his 
pipe  of  a  reed.  The  violin  is  made  of  a  soul." 

"To  me,"  she  replied,  "the  various  voices  of  music 
are  like  the  moods  of  our  best-beloved.  Loving  the 
keynote,  we  love  its  chords,  as  kin.  The  harp  is  the 
poet  of  music,  the  organ  its  priest  ;  the  brasses  are  its 
soldiers  ;  the  reeds  its  courtiers,  the  violin  is  its  lover." 

"  And  music  itself?  " 

"Music  itself  is  the  articulate  sigh  of  the  universal 
soul,  homesick  for  songful  heaven." 

With  a  disapproving  shake  of  his  gray  head,  the  doctor 
passed  on. 

The  round  dances  ended.  The  "  Lady  Washington  " 
succeeded  them,  followed  by  the  Virginia  Reel.  As  the 
latter  reached  its  final  figure,  Isolde  collected  the  fes- 
tive souvenirs — consisting  of  fire-crackers,  peanuts,  prize 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  99 

candy,  a  popcorn  ball, .  chewing-gum,  a  mouth-balloon, 
and  a  dismembered  but  still  energetic  jumpmg-jack — 
with  which  Gay  lord,  not  without  a  fine  regard  for  his 
own  little  tastes,  had  generously  presented  her  ;  and  was 
about  to  seek  Althea,  when  a  confusion  throughout  the 
grounds,  as  if  of  sudden  panic,  arrested  her.  Vehicles 
whirled  madly  toward  the  gates  ;  and  such  townsfolk  as 
were  on  foot  excitedly  sought  shelter.  There  were  cries 
of  "  A  storm  !  "  "Look  out  for  the  wind !  "  followed  by  a 
general  furling  of  tents  and  lowering  of  awnings.  Then 
she  realized  that  the  little  cloud  which  had  risen  on  the 
western  horizon,  at  first  no  larger  than  the  proverbial 
hand,  had  grown  and  darkened  till  now  it  hung  the 
heavens  like  a  pall.  There  was  a  distant  rumble  of 
thunder,  a  sudden  play  of  lightning,  a  far-off  voice  of 
menace  from  the  rising  wind.  As  she  caught  Gaylord 
in  her  arms,  a  man's  familiar  voice,  sharp  with  anxiety, 
called  her  from  afar.  She  staggered  blindly  toward  it 
through  the  sudden  darkness  that  enveloped  her ;  then, 
confused  and  terrified,  she  stood  still.  The  darkness  suf- 
focated her.  A  sudden,  awful  hush  was  on  the  world. 
It  was  broken  by  a  peal  of  thunder  which  jarred  the 
deafened  earth,  and  reverberated  over  the  mountains ; 
the  maddened  shriek  of  cyclonic  wind  rang  through  the 
pine  trees  ;  then  a  mighty  crash  resounded,  as  an  awful, 
unearthly,  blinding  glare  folded  earth  and  sky  in  one 
giant  flame. 

The  wind  swept  on,  and  the  lightning  followed  it.  A 
shower  of  sudden  rain,  and  the  western  storm  was  over  ; 
one  royal  smitten  pine  alone  marking  its  path  of  woe. 

Isolde,  hushing  Gaylord,  who  was  sobbing  with  fright 
in  her  arms,  waited  as  the  Harriman  bays  sped  toward 
her  from  the  direction  whence  Steele's  voice  had  sounded 


100  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

as  the  storm  broke.  The  Holbrqok  carriage,  driven  by 
Jack,  was  drawn  up  by  her  side  at  the  same  moment, 
with  an  abruptness  which  jounced  portly  Mrs.  Holbrook 
simultaneously  out  of  seat  and  temper. 

"Law  me!"  she  ejaculated,  as  she  recovered  her 
balance,  "  my  best  bonnet's  smashed  flatter'n  a  griddle- 
cake.  You're  no  more  of  a  driver,  Jack  Holbrook,  than  a 
—  a  —  a  pesterin'  hornet !  " 

"  O  mother  !  mother  !  give  me  a  better  reputation," 
laughed  Jack,  as  he  leaped  to  the  ground,  "  or  Miss  Ster- 
ling will  not  trust  herself  to  me." 

"  Get  in,  my  dear,  an'  welcome,"  Mrs.  Holbrook  invited, 
in  a  voice  in  which  hospitality  struggled  with  indignation 
increased  by  a  closer  scrutiny  of  her  demoralized  "  best 
bunnit."  "  If  he  breaks  our  necks  before  he's  done  with 
us,  it  may  be  a  lesson  to  him  ;  though,"  she  added,  with 
scathing  sarcasm,  "'taint  likely  as  necks  is  of  any  more 
account  to  him  than — than  bunnits !  " 

Steele  Harriman,  driving  up  at  this  juncture,  arrested 
Isolde's  ascent  into  the  Holbrook  carry-all. 

"  Mrs.  Bounds  authorized  me  to  drive  you  home,"  he 
explained. 

He  took  abrupt  leave  of  the  Holbrook  party,  and  in  si- 
lence assisted  Isolde  and  Gaylord  into  the  carnage.  As  he 
took  his  seat  beside  her,  Isolde  noticed  that  his  face  and 
lips  were  pale  and  nervous.  His  voice,  when  he  spoke, 
was  unsteady. 

"  The  tree  ! "  he  said.  "  I  saw  it  fall — not  ten  yards 
from  you.  If  you  had  been  under  it — or  even  a  few 
yards  nearer  !  My  God  !  " 

Her  lips  trembled.  Her  eyes  as  she  turned  them  on 
him,  were  suffused  with  grateful  tears. 

"  I  was  standing  under  it  when  your  voice  called  me  to- 


A  SOX  OF  ESAU.  101 

ward  you  !  "  she  said.  "  Under  God,  we  owe  our  lives  to 
you." 

"  Thank  your  God,  for  us  both  !  "  he  said,  lifting  his  hat. 
"  I  would  thank  Him  with  you — if  I  knew  how ! " 

"If?  "  she  repeated. 

He  ignoi'ed  the  wistful  query,  and  lashed  the  bays  into 
a  gallop.  Isolde  was  only  too  glad  that  their  pace  should 
absorb  his  attention.  Intuitively  she  realized  that  he  was 
not  quite  master  of  himself.  She  thought  that  the  scene 
had  unnerved  him.  In  truth,  it  was  not  the  scene,  but  its 
unexpected  effect  upon  him,  which  was  the  secret  of  his 
emotion.  As  he  said,  the  tree  had  fallen  not  ten  yards 
from  her.  In  the  agony  of  the  moment  when  he  had 
thought  her  under  it,  he  had  learned  that  the  girl  was 
dear  to  him.  The  revelation  was  apposite,  corning  as  it 
did,  upon  a  word  from  Althea  which  had  been  a  challenge, 
albeit  a  veiled  one,  to  his  manly  honor.  Had  the  girl 
known  of  it  ?  he  asked  himself,  suspiciously.  A  glance  at 
her  unconscious  face  answered  him.  Of  a  sudden  his 
mood  changed.  Her  unconsciousness  no  longer  pleased, 
it  tortured  him.  By  what  right  was  she  unconscious,  sit- 
ting there  within  reach  of  his  strong  hand,  his  passionate 
eyes  upon  her?  Did  her  soul  not  only  soar,  but  abide 
above,  beyond  him — or  could  he  reach  her,  claim  her, 
master  her,  if  he  chose  ? 

Again  and  again  he  asked  himself  the  question,  driving 
alone  from  the  Ledge-gate.  Reaching  his  stables,  he 
threw  the  reins  to  the  groom,  and  ordered  that  Ladybird 
be  saddled  without  delay.  He  paced  up  and  down  impa- 
tiently, restlessly,  as  he  waited.  The  fever  in  his  blood, 
the  turmoil  in  his  heart,  the  struggle  of  his  soul — 
whence  came  they  ?  From  a  girl's  fair  face,  a  girl's  soft 
voice,  a  girl's  white  heart ! 


102  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

He  leaped  to  the  saddle,  as  Ladybird  was  led  out  and 
without  a  word  or  look  to  the  Jehu  at  her  bridle,  galloped 
out  of  sight.  Jehu  gazed  after  him  with  sullen  eyes. 

"  Th'  team's  all  o'  a  lather,  an'  that  thar  mare's  got  ter 
race  wi'  th'  devil,  an'  beat !  "  he  confided  to  the  maid, 
whom  the  sound  of  hoofs  in  the  stable-yard  had  brought 
to  the  door.  "  I  hate  a  man  as  takes  his  tantrums  out  in 
hoss-killiu.'  It's  a  darned  mean  trick." 

"A  man's  bound  ter  take  his  tantrums  out  o'  suthin 
weaker — its  his  natur'  ! "  responded  the  maid,  severely. 
"  When  '  taint  a  hoss  he's  a-takiu'  'em  outer,  it's  a 
woman!" 

"  He'd  be  a  smart  man  as  'ud  take  his  tantrum  out  o' 
yo' !  "  meditated  Jehu,  admiringly. 

"  Jest  yo'  try  it,"  invited  the  maid,  briskly. 

The  summer  twilight  was  darkening  to  night.  Little 
by  little,  as  the  miles  behind  her  multiplied,  Ladybird's 
gallant  pace  slackened.  Finally,  the  feverish  restlessness 
of  his  mood  abating,  Steele  reduced  it  to  a  walk.  After  a 
time,  he  threw  the  rein  on  her  neck,  quieting  her  with  a 
word  and  caress  ;  and  striking  a  match  on  the  saddle, 
proceeded  to  light  and  smoke  a  cigar.  Far  behind  him 
the  town- lights  twinkled,  but  in  the  country  about  him  all 
was  dark  and  still.  Now  and  again  a  cow's  law  floated 
to  him,  or  the  gentle  whinny  of  a  pastured  horse  ;  peace- 
ful sounds  which  intensified,  rather  than  lessened,  the 
restful  silence  of  the  night. 

He  looked  up  to  the  starlit  sky.  Who  shall  tell  the 
thoughts  of  a  man  alone  with  his  soul  in  the  night's  awed 
hush  and  darkness  ?  What  do  the  angels  read,  watching 
him  through  the  peep-holes  that  we  call  stars  ?  Backward 
thoughts  of  youth  and  childhood,  forward  thoughts  of 
maturity  and  age,  upward  thoughts  of  God  and  heaven, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  103 

downward  thoughts  of  flesh  and  hell ;  thoughts  that 
speed  back  to  birth,  and  on  to  death ;  peaceful  thoughts 
of  faith,  and  trust,  and  hope,  and  love  ;  warring  thoughts 
of  doubt  and  fear,  of  hatred  and  despair ;  thoughts  that 
wing  his  soul,  and  thoughts  that  clog  it ;  thoughts  of 
joy  and  thoughts  of  sorrow  ;  bitter  thoughts  and  sweet  : 
now  commingled  and  now  separate — thoughts,  thoughts, 
thoughts ! 

It  was  an  hour,  a  scene,  in  which,  inevitably,  a  man 
must  have  faced  himself,  and  through  himself  his  God ! 
The  divine  spark  ever  smoldering  within  Steele  Harri- 
man's  soul  leaped  up  and  quickened  into  flame.  In  the 
turmoil  of  day  he  could  fight  the  spark  and  conquer  it, 
but  in  this  holy  hour  of  truce,  when  the  fray  of  the  world 
had  ceased,  and  the  clash  of  its  arms  was  silent,  the  flame 
would  not  be  trampled.  Down  from  the  sky  the  stars 
were  shining  softly  ;  up  toward  the  sky  his  soul-flame 
leaped,  fanned  by  the  winds,  fed  by  the  moon's  white  fire. 
Life,  which  his  materialistic  creed  regarded  as  the  simple 
human  evolvent  of  living  prolific  Nature,  of  a  sudden  took 
on  immortal  spiritual  meanings.  In  vivid  panorama  its 
phases  from  birth  to  death  passed  before  his  eyes, 
illumed  by  the  revealing  stars  of  heaven. 

Babyhood.  As  a  birdling  from  its  dream,  a  soul  wakes 
from  night  to  day.  The  name  of  the  day  is  Life.  Its 
eyes  are  dazzled  by  the  sudden  light.  Its  wings  are  gone, 
and  its  cloud-nest  is — where  ?  In  place  of  the  wings, 
flesh  ;  of  the  cloud-nest,  a  cradle.  Its  little  hands  quiver 
toward  the  ladder  of  the  sunshine;  its  wistful  eyes  wander 
toward  the  sky.  Its  voice  lifts  in  a  faint  sad  cry — a 
homesick  cry  for  heaven.  Of  a  sudden  the  cry  is  stilled. 
The  little  lips  are  hushed  against  something  soft  and 
warm ;  the  little  hands  waver  up,  and  thrill  with  the  first 


104  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

rapturous  contact  of  human  flesh  with  flesh.  The  little 
mouth  sucks  iu  its  first  sweet  draught,  and  life  is  begun. 

Childhood.  The  cradle  is  set  away  and  the  mother- 
bosom  covered.  The  child  has  outgrown  both.  He 
wakes  from  his  sleep,  and  leaps  on  lusty  limbs  from  his 
small  white  cot,  running  out  knee-deep  into  the  morning 
grasses.  All  about  him  pink,  sweet  flowers  are  blooming  ; 
past  all  he  runs  unheeding,  his  eyes  fixed  on  one  far,  fair 
rose.  He  presses  toward  it,  tottering  on  tiptoe  as  he 
strains  up,  up,  little  arms  lifted,  little  hands  open,  little 
fingers  curved  for  grasping  the  rose  beyond  his  reach.  A 
great  stone  lies  near  by.  He  strains  at  it  till  his  arms  are 
aching,  and  his  tiny  body  tired,  rolling  it  over  and  over 
toward  that  tempting  rose.  He  mounts  it  with  a  laugh  of 
triumph  ;  at  last  the  rose  is  within  his  reach  !  With  both 
hands  he  clutches  it  greedily.  Then  a  cry,  a  sob,  a  shower 
of  childish  tears,  through  which  he  looks  from  his  hands 
to  the  rose,  from  the  rose  back  to  the  little  palms  its  cruel 
thorn  has  wounded.  He  sobs,  and  sobs,  and  will  not  be 
comforted  ;  and  the  grown  folk  think  the  thorn  still  hurts 
him.  They  do  not  think  of  the  pain  of  life's  first  lesson, 
sunk  deeply,  cruelly,  as  the  thorn  in  his  palm,  into  the 
trusting  childish  heart ! 

Boyhood.  No  more  tears,  no  more  idle  wanderings  in 
morning  gardens.  Life  is  real ;  life  is  earnest.  Men  and 
books  and  something  within  him  more  eloquent  than 
either,  tell  him  this.  He  runs,  and  rides,  and  swims,  and 
wrestles.  Only  thus  can  he  become  a  man.  He  cons 
Latin  and  Greek  conjugations,  and  pores  musty  lore- 
books.  Only  thus  can  he  become  a  scholar.  And  to  be 
a  man  and  scholar,  this  is  all !  Is  it  all  ?  There  comes 
an  hour  when  the  day  is  ended,  and  his  companions  have 
left  him,  and  his  tasks  are  done  ;  an  hour  all  his  own. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  105 

He  steals  away  from  the  hearthstone  out  into  the  dark- 
ness, his  eyes  fastened  on  the  starlit  sky.  Is  it  all,  to  be 
a  man  and  a  scholar — all  the  meaning,  the  end  and  issue 
of  birth,  and  life,  and  death? — Death !  He  feels  that  the 
night  is  chill,  and  the  darkness  lonely.  His  breath  comes 
a  little  faster  ;  he  crouches  closer  to  the  ground.  Yes, 
he  knows  of  death.  A  boy  of  his  class  died  last  week, 
and  they  shut  him  in  a  box,  and  buried  him  far,  far  down 
in  the  cold  dark  earth.  He  had  not  been  a  man  ;  not 
even  a  scholar.  His  birth,  his  life,  his  death,  then — were 
they  nothing,  nothing  ?  The  stars  hold  his  eyes — or  is  it 
the  face  of  the  dead  boy  looking  from  them  ?  Of  a  sud- 
den he  remembers  all  that  his  mother  and  the  good  old 
parson  have  told  him  of  God,  and  heaven,  and  angels. 
His  lifted  face  is  illumined.  For  an  instant  he  catches 
a  glimpse  of  life  as  God  means  it — the  mortal  way  to  the 
immortal  goal  ;  the  human  means  to  the  divine  end ! 
He  clasps  his  hands  on  his  heart.  Tears  are  running 
down  his  face.  "  O  God  !  "  he  cries  under  his  breath.  O 
God  !  " 

But  the  next  morning  he  has  forgotten.  Birth  and 
life  and  death  are  mysteries  for  women  and  preachers  to 
ponder.  For  a  boy — to  be  a  man  and  scholar,  this  is  all ! 

Youth.  The  Latin  and  Greek  are  laid  away,  the  books 
conned  to  their  end.  Now  a  new  book  lies  before  him — 
the  wonderful  book  called  the  World.  He  opens  it  with 
eager  hand  and  hopeful  heart,  and  eyes  bright  with  am- 
bition. For  a  few  chapters  he  reads  on  lightly  ;  then  he 
pauses,  flushing  like  a  boy.  The  new  page  is  fair  to  sight, 
and  sweet  of  scent,  and  O,  warm  and  soft,  and  thrilling- 
sweet  of  touch  !  He  reads  on  with  kindled  eyes  and 
clasped  hands,  and  panting  breath.  His  body  thrills  and 
quivers  ;  his  heart  burns  his  breast  like  a  white-hot  flame. 


106  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

He  falls  on  his  knees  ;  his  burning  face  is  hidden  in  his 
hands.  The  boy's  problem  is  solved.  He  knows  now, 
all  life's  secret.  He  reads  it  on  Youth's  first  sweet  page 
of — Love  ! 

Manhood.  Life,  like  history,  repeats  itself.  The  story 
of  youth's  love  is  the  story  of  the  child  and  the  rose.  He 
has  read  the  sweet  tale  to  its  end  ;  plucked  the  rose  and 
felt  the  thorn-pricks.  The  difference  is  that  he  sheds  no 
tears.  His  eyes  are  dry,  and  overbright.  They  wear  a 
hard  glitter.  He  sighs,  and  reads  on  listlessly.  Soon 
two  pages  hold  his  eyes.  The  first  is  radiant-white  ;  it 
bears  in  golden  letters,  a  single  name — God.  The  other 
is  unlettered  and  untinted,  a  dim,  dull  opaque  blank. 
Between  them  his  eyes  hesitate.  God  !  God  !  the  golden 
Name  allures  him.  He  recalls  a  word  of  the  good  old 
parson's,  gone,  long  since,  to  his  reward  :  "  There  is  no 
peace  where  God  is  not  !  "  A  sob  breaks  from  his  breast 
— it  is  so  true,  so  true.  In  all  these  restless,  feverish, 
wasted,  Godless  years,  no  peace,  no  peace  !  "  O  God  !  " 
he  cries  in  an  ecstacy  of  reawakened  faith — "  O  God !  " 
But  the  cry  is  hushed  on  his  lips.  "  There  is  no  God," 
refutes  the  world.  "  To  be  a  man  and  scholar,  this  is 
all !  "  He  averts  his  eyes  from  the  pure  white  page  with 
the  golden  Name  upon  it.  "  There  is  no  God  ! "  he 
echoes,  and  fixes  his  eyes  on  the  blank. 

Age.  The  story  of  life  is  ending.  Only  a  few  brief, 
unread  pages,  and  then .  He  reads  on,  slowly,  pain- 
fully. His  eyes  are  dim  ;  his  hands  tremble  ;  his  palsied 
finger  traces  word  and  line,  lest  his  failing  sight  wander. 
The  pages  are  reminiscent.  Babyhood,  childhood,  boy- 
hood, youth,  manhood,  all  the  secrets  of  their  sealed  pages 
are  retold  in  fitful  fragments.  Sometimes  he  sighs,  some- 
times a  tear  blurs  his  sight.  He  brushes  it  away,  and 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  107 

reads  on.  He  would  pause  so  gladly,  but  ah  !  he  cannot, 
he  cannot ;  a  resistless  force  impels  him  on  and  on.  He 
trembles  as  he  nears  the  end  ;  his  face  is  gray  and  drawn  ; 
he  clasps  with  impotent  hands  the  passing  pages.  Let  , 
him  turn  back  ;  let  him  read  again  life's  story.  He  has 
read  it  so  hastily,  so  carelessly ;  missing  its  best  sweet- 
ness, its  highest  beauty,  its  noblest  meaning.  Just  for 
one  little  span  of  years,  one  little  space  of  life,  let  him 
turn  back,  O,  let  him  turn  back  !  Nay  !  the  pages  pass  on 
swiftly.  He  clenches  his  hands  upon  their  margin  with 
a  defiant  cry.  He  will  not  read  further,  he  will  not !  Poor 
vain  resister.  Before  his  shuddering  eyes  already  the 
last  leaf  opens.  Upon  it  is  pictured  a  new-dug,  open 
grave.  His  sight  is  blurred.  He  shuts  the  book,  and 
totters  wildly  to  his  feet.  His  limbs  fail  him  ;  he  staggers 
and  falls.  A  terrible  agony  convulses  him.  There  are 
chill  white  drops  of  anguish  on  his  brow.  His  sightless 
eyes  grow  fixed  and  glassy  ;  his  pale  lips  writhe  and 
shrink  apart.  The  book  falls  from  his  nerveless  hands  ; 
with  a  wild,  despairing  cry  he  sinks  prostrate  upon  it. 
His  death-cry  rings  through  the  world,  but  the  world 
hears  not,  nor  heeds  it.  Only  the  children  shudder,  and 
creep  closer  to  each  other  in  their  small  white  beds. 
Some  of  them  weep,  because  it  is  dark,  and  because  they 
are  frightened,  and  because — because — they  know  not 
why.  In  after  years  they  will  know,  but  they  will  deny 
it.  Like  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  will  say,  "  There  is 
no  God  !  "  But  in  the  midnight,  beside  a  death-bed,  in 
some  chill  haunted  hour  of  hush  and  darkness,  the  death- 
cry  will  come  back  to  them — the  cry  old  as  humanity, 
universal  as  mortality  ;  on  the  lips  of  the  faithful  soul  a 
cry  of  hope  and  rapture,  on  the  lips  of  the  unfaithful,  a 
cry  of  mad  despair  !  The  brief  cry,  the  long  cry,  uttered 


108  A  BON  OF  ESAU. 

in  a  breath,  reverberating  through  all  eternity  ;  the  cry  of 
the  finite  to  the  Infinite,  of  the  creature  to  his  Creator, 
of  the  impotent  to  the  Power,  "  0  God  !  O  God  !  O  God !" 

He  broke  from  his  reverie  with  a  shuddering  sigh. 
Reaching  the  home-gate,  his  face  was  wan  and  rigid. 
Nevertheless  there  was  an  exaltation,  a  dawning  radiance 
upon  it,  flickering  purely,  whitely,  as  the  reflection  of  a 
celestial  flame.  Whence  did  it  come  ?  What  did  his 
eyes  read  by  it  ? 

Ah !  who  shall  tell  the  secrets  of  "  Youth's  sweet 
page  ?  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN   GOD'S    GOOD   TIME. 

As  the  Newfield  Bank  entered  upon  the  second  quarter 
of  its  existence,  the  young  banker  realized  that  he  had  at- 
tained celebrity.  During  his  flying  trips  to  Denver  and 
Omaha,  he  was  pointed  out  as  a  man  of  note.  In  Chicago 
and  San  Francisco  his  name  began  to  be  known  in  con- 
nection with  certain  bonanza  railroad  schemes  then  agi- 
tating the  financial  heart  of  the  West.  Eastern  brokers,  in 
daily  communication  with  him  by  mail  and  wire,  prophe- 
sied that  he  would  make  a  stir  in  the  speculative  market. 
He  accepted  the  general  tribute  with  the  natural  indiffer- 
ence of  the  born  leader  of  men  ;  an  indifference  the  more 
sincere  because  the  tribute  left  him  unsatisfied.  A  re- 
pressed yet  defiantly  articulate  cry  was  ever  ringing  from 
some  mysterious  void  within  him,  for  something  deeper 
than  life  yet  held  him — something  higher,  fuller,  more.  If 
he  realized  that  the  cry  was  that  of  his  starved  and  stunted 
soul,  he  scorned  to  acknowledge  it,  even  to  himself.  But 
there  was  no  indifference,  feigned  or  real,  about  old  John 
Harriman,  upon  whom  the  laurels  reflected.  He  abso- 
lutely radiated  delighted  pride  and  gratification  as  he  sat, 
day  after  day,  in  the  alcove  of  one  of  the  bank's  great 
windows,  beaming  approval  on  the  depositors  as  they 
passed  in  and  out.  Many  of  them  lingered  daily  for  a  chat 
with  the  genial  old  man,  whose  simple  faith  in  "  my  son 
Steele  "  and  the  Newfield  Bank  was  at  once  reassuring 


110  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

and  contagious.  Runs  were  made  on  the  less  popular 
banks  of  neighboring  towns,  and  accounts  transferred  to 
Steele  Havriman.  Private  deposits  poured  in  upon  him. 
He  held  money  in  trust  for  more  unprotected  women  than 
are  supposed  to  exist  in  that  region  of  gallant  westerners. 
Moreover,  he  was  fortunate  in  his  private  financial  vent- 
ures—  "had  the  devil's  own  luck,"  as  he  termed  it,  in 
somewhat  ambiguous  self-congratulation.  Cautious  men 
watched  his  investments ;  ambitious  men  duplicated 
them.  The  town  itself,  under  the  manipulation  of  a  mas- 
ter-hand, suddenly  leaped  into  prominence.  A  laud- 
boom  cleverly  started  in  the  vicinity,  died  a  natural  death, 
indeed,  but  its  progressive  spirit  outlived  it.  An  influx 
of  enterprising  eastern  blood  infused  Newfield  veins  with 
new  life  and  vigor ;  homes  and  shops  and  professional 
offices  rose  with  the  phenomenal  suddenness  of  the  mush- 
room growth  of  a  night.  And  justly  or  unjustly,  the  en- 
tire credit  of  the  boom  was  attributed  to  the  Newfield 
Bank. 

.  The  bank  closed  at  three.  Regularly,  a  few  hours  later, 
Steele  mounted  Ladybird,  and  turned  into  the  road  that 
led  to  the  Ledge.  The  gossip  which  had  once  coupled  his 
name  with  Freshet  Sal's  had  subsided.  If,  of  late,  he 
ever  turned  into  the  Freshet  road,  only  Ladybird  knew  it. 
Friendly  eyes  followed  him,  and  friendly  hearts  felt  drawn 
closer  to  him,  because  of  the  embryo  love-story  which 
his  frequent  visits  to  the  Rounds'  house  seemed  to  indi- 
cate. Only  Isolde  was  blind  to  the  indications ;  but  their 
spell,  though  unrecognized,  was  upon  her  maiden-heart. 
The  vestal  veil  which  had  rendered  it  hitherto  as  inacces- 
sible as  inviolable  was  stirred.  Its  white  film  fluttered  in 
the  breath  of  dawning  revelation,  like  a  lily  in  the  morn- 
ing wind  that  presages  the  sun.  She  did  not  realize  that 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  Ill 

life  had  taken  on  a  new  aspect  for  her ;  she  knew  only 
that  it  no  longer  held  the  old. 

She  grew  a  little  pale,  a  little  listless.  The  human  so- 
cial intercourse  which  had  been  so  sweet  to  her  lost  its 
charm.  Her  old  solitary  tastes  revived.  She  took  long 
lonely  rides  toward  the  mountains,  solitary  strolls  under 
the  mountain-pines.  She  kept  shy,  sweet,  night-long 
vigils,  tossing  on  her  white  bed  in  waking  dreams.  She 
prayed  long  prayers,  and  knelt  when  they  were  ended, 
worldless,  motionless,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands  ;  con- 
scious of  no  thoughts,  yet  with  a  maelstrom  of  thought 
seething  in  fears,  hopes,  visions,  within  her.  She  turned 
to  Althea  with  a  new  tenderness — the  woman-want  had 
wakened  with  the  woman-heart.  She  yearned  for  her 
mother.  To  lay  her  head  on  the  mothei'-breast,  to  feel 
the  fold  of  mother-arms,  must  be  to  solve  the  riddle  of 
her  heart's  new,  mystic  pain.  She  crushed  back  the  long- 
ing as  disloyal  to  Althea,  and  sought  refuge  in  her  books. 
For  hours  she  sat  with  the  open  pages  before  her,  only  to 
realize,  later,  that  she  had  not  read  a  word.  Of  what  had 
she  been  thinking?  She  could  not  answer.  Evasive, 
elusive,  intangible,  yet  O,  how  vivid,  those  virginal  day- 
dreams !'  Then  she  turned  to  her  writing.  At  first  her 
pen  went  swiftly,  striving  to  keep  pace  with  her  flame-like 
thought.  In  the  fever  of  creation  her  lines  sang  spontane- 
ously ;  but  when  in  calmer  hours  she  read  them  over,  she 
marvelled  at  them.  Whence  had  come  their  vivid  life  and 
glow,  their  new-born  strength  and  passion  ?  She  wrote 
on  and  on,  as  the  fire  of  inspiration  waxed ;  then,  with 
her  pen  still  at  white  heat,  she  dropped  it.  Words ! 
words  !  words !  What  were  they  but  soulless  shadows, 
mocking  the  living  heart  they  would  fain  reveal? 

Of  a  sudden,  all  life  took  on  a  personal  human  meaning 


112  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

for  her.  Every  pain  and  every  joy  of  the  world  was  her 
individual  personal  pain.  Every  brave  deed  done  en- 
nobled her  as  the  doer ;  every  ignoble  wrong  stabbed  her 
to  her  bare  white  soul.  The  mother-heart  stirred  within 
her.  The  voices  of  little  children  echoed  through  her, 
hauntiugly  as  the  burden  of  a  sweet  sad  song.  She  took 
them  in  her  arms  and  pressed  her  lips  to  their  faces, 
whispering  mother-prayers  above  their  little  heads.  One 
day  she  broke  into  bitter  sobbing  over  Gay  lord's  golden 
curls. 

"To  go  back — only  to  go  back  and  be  a  child  again  ! " 
she  murmured. 

Ah !  the  childhood  had  fled  forever.  She,  too,  was  in 
the  joy,  the  pain,  the  dream,  the  travail,  born  of  "  Youth's 
sweet  page." 

One  afternoon  in  early  autumn  Steele  rode  up  to  the 
Ledge  gate,  and  hallooed  to  the  maid  an  imperious  sum- 
mons for  Mrs.  Rounds.  As  she  came  out  he  dismounted, 
surlily. 

"  Why  have  I  not  been  told  what  has  been  going  on  up 
here  ?  "  he  demanded,  abruptly. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  evaded  Althea,  but  she  looked 
conscious  as  she  said  it.  She  did  understand  quite 
well 

A  week  earlier,  Jack  Holbrook,  coming  upon  Isolde  as 
she  walked  on  the  lawn  at  twilight,  had  flushed  and  fal- 
tered, and  finally  flung  out  his  hands  boyishly,  and  clasped 
hers,  toying  with  the  golden-rod  at  her  belt. 

"  Miss  Sterling — Isolde — "  he  stammered,  "you — you 
must  know — how  it  is — with  me.  If  there  is  no  one  in 
the  East " 

She  interrupted  him  gently  but  firmly. 

"  There  is  no  one  anywhere,  Jack,  as  yet !  "  she  said. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  113 

"Be  my  clear  friend  always.  Do  not  pain  me  by  asking 
to  be  more." 

And  manfully  Jack  bad  taken  bis  answer,  resuming 
with  a  brave,  if  saddened,  heart  bis  old  footing  at  the 
Ledge. 

The  young  people  had  supposed  the  secret  all  their 
own,  but  they  had  forgotten  little  Gaylord,  playing  near 
them  at  the  time.  Five  minutes  later  he  had  dashed  in- 
to the  house,  breathless  and  incoherent  with  indigna- 
tion. 

"  Jack  Holbwook's  a  nassy  sing,"  he  sobbed  to  his 
mother.  "He  took't  'Soldy's  ban's  out  dere  by  de  foun'- 
t'in  an'  jes'  'queezed  'em  awful,  an'  he  hurted  her,  he  did, 
for  s'e's  up  in  her  woom,  a-kyin' !  " 

•  Althea  was  neither  surprised  nor  ill-pleased  at  the  reci- 
tal. Her  family  vanity  was  gratified,  and  she  knew  that 
the  little  incident  could  be  turned  to  Isolde's  advantage. 
That  she  had  not  scrupled  thus  to  turn  it,  was  proved  by 
Steele  Harrimau's  lowering  face. 

.  "  The  boys  are  all  laughing  at  him,"  he  said,  gloomily. 
"  They  say  that  any  man  would  be  a  fool  to  hope  to  keep 
her  here." 

"So  any  man  would  be,"  assented  Althea  —  "save 
one." 

"  You  know  this?  "  he  cried,  breathlessly. 

She  hesitated. 

"  Pshaw !  "  he  said.  "  You  are  not  sure  of  me — not 
sure  of  me  !  I  thought  you  knew  me  better." 

"  It  is  because  I  know  you  so  well,"  she  retorted,  "  that 
I  cannot  be  sure  of  you." 

He  flushed,  and  prodded  the  bank  with  his  spur.  "  You 
may  be  sure,"  he  said,  at  last.  "I  am  in  earnest." 

For  answer  she  held  him  out  a  folded  sheet  of  paper. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"It  is — ?"  be  questioned,  eagerly. 

"Rath era  pretty  rhyme." 

With  an  impatient  exclamation  he  unfolded  it,  reading 
with  kindling  eyes  the  little  impromptu  verse  which  in 
the  fulness  of  her  girlish  heart  Isolde  had  dashed  off, 
some  days  earlier,  and  forgotten  thereafter.  She  had  en- 
titled it — 


IN    GOD'S  GOOD  TIME. 

O  morning  sun.  as  a  glad  young  lover 

To  far  tryst  speeding  with  kindled  soul, 
Across  the  mist  and  the  clouds  hung  over, 

You  seek  forever  your  western  goal ! 
Fair  skies  smile  vainly  to  tempt  and  stay  you — 

Beyond  them,  splendor  of  height  sublime. 
Peace  !  you  shall  gain  it,  full  sure  attain  it, 

In  God's  good  time. 

O  fledgling-bird  with  wee  heart  a  flutter, 

As  wings  wave  open  like  gates  ajar, 
What  yearnings  wild  in  your  songs  you  utter 

For  boughs  that  beckon  from  fields  afar  ! 
The  safe  home-nest  and  the  meads  that  know  you 

Are  naught  to  freedom  and  foreign  clime. 
Peace  !  wings  shall  strengthen,  and  brief  nights  lengthen, 

In  God's  good  time. 

O  budding  rose,  in  }'our  sweet  spring  garden, 

With  young  heart  weary  of  calyx-gloom, 
Against  the  wound  of  your  brown  thorn-warden 

Your  strain  to  sunshine  and  summer  bloom  : 
The  Past,  the  Present,  are  buds  unbearing — 

The  Future,  flower  of  golden  prime. 
Peace !  you  sliall  prove  it,  to  rue  or  love  it, 

In  God's  good  time. 


A  SON'  OF  ESAU.  115 

And  tliou,  my  heart,  in  youth's  incompleteness 

To  sun  and  songster  and  rose  akin, 
Thou,  too,  dost  yearn  for  the  mystic  sweetness 

Like  unquafPd  nectar  Life's  cup  within  ! 
O  draught  divinest,  whose  eterne  paean 

All  earth  and  heaven  in  chorus  chime 
(Shall  I  dare  name  thee  ?) — Love!  call  me,  claim  me, 

In  God's  good  time. 


He  refolded  the  sheet  and  slipped  it  into  his  breast- 
pocket. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  does  not  love  you  yet,  that  is,  not  consciously  ; 
but  the  possibility  of  love  is  revealing  itself.  She  is  still 
in  her  girlhood's  dream,  but  she  is  in  your  power.  You 
may  waken  her  when  you  will." 

His  eyes  flashed.  His  hands,  toying  restlessly  with  his 
whip,  were  suddenly  clenched. 

"  Don't !  "  he  cried,  in  impulsive  incoherent  appeal, 
which  the  woman  both  understood  and  disregarded — 
"  don't — for  her  sake  !  I  am  not  worthy — yet.  There  is 
something  to — to  retrieve,  to  leave  behind." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Althea,  with  calm  acquiescence  ; 
"  the  Freshet  cabin." 

At  her  words  he  started,  aifd  a  sudden,  bitter  con- 
tempt for  her  burned  in  his  eyes.  Believing  the  worst  of 
him,  she  was  yet  not  only  willing,  but  eager,  to  force  her 
pure  young  sister  into  his  unworthy  arms  !  But  the  con- 
tempt of  his  thought  paled  before  the  passion  of  it.  The 
hot  blood  surged  to  his  face. 

"I — I  thought  there  must  be  longer  waiting!"  he 
cried,  almost  humbly.  "She  is  snow,  and  I  am  fire.  I 
feared  to  frighten  her,  to  repel  her,  if  I  spoke  too  soon." 


116  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"You  may  waken  her  when  you  will,"  repeated  Altliea. 

The  words  did  their  evil  work.  His  control  was  lost, 
his  hesitation  over. 

"The  waiting  has  been  torture,"  he  cried.  "Worthy 
or  not,  by  heaven,  I'll  claim  her  now  !  " 

He  leaped  to  the  saddle,  touching  the  mare  with  his 
spur.  She  reared  and  plunged  spiritedly.  When  he  had 
controlled  her,  his  face  and  voice  were  calm. 

"  There  will  be  a  dance  to-night  in  Jenkins'  barn,"  he 
said.  "  Tell  Miss  Sterling  that  the  scene  will  afford  her 
unique  literary  material.  With  her  permission,  I  will 
call  for  her  at  about  eight." 

Althea's  eyes  followed  him  until  he  had  ridden  out  of 
sight.  Then  she  turned  back  to  the  house.  In  her  bed- 
room Isolde  was  rocking,  with  Gaylord  in  her  arms. 
There  was  a  sweetness  upon  the  girl's  face  not  without 
its  sadness,  had  loving  eyes  read  it  aright.  It  told  of 
unconscious  repression,  of  a  secret  only  half  cognizant 
of  itself,  of  a  dream  trembling  on  the  verge  of  waking, 
at  once  the  dread  and  the  desire  of  the  uncomprehending 
virgin  soul. 

"  WTho  was  your  caller?"  she  asked,  as  Althea  rejoined 
her. 

"Harriman,  junior,  to  offer  you  his  escort  to  the  Jen- 
kins'  barn-dance  to-night.  I  accepted  for  you." 

A  sudden  tide  of  color  surged  over  the  girl's  face,  dye- 
ing it  a  shamed  crimson,  and  forcing  hot  tears  to  her 
eyes.  She  freed  herself  from  Gaylord's  clinging  arms, 
and  crossed  to  her  sister's  side. 

"  Althea,"  she  said,  "I — I  cannot  go  with  him!  Per- 
haps you  have  noticed  that  I — that  I  have  not  been " 

"  That  you  have  not  been  quite  the  same  to  him  since 
poor  Jack  opened  your  innocent  eyes  to  the  aspirations 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  117 

of  his  sex  ?  Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  I  have  noticed  it ;  and  so, 
undoubtedly,  has  he.  Is  it  wise  to  have  forced  him  to 
notice  it,  Isolde?  Is  it  not  just  possible  that  you  are — 
fighting  a  shadow  ? 

She  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  with  burning  face. 

"  Althea,"  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  plain  words  break  no  bones — and  I  as- 
sert nothing!  I  merely  suggest." 

"Your  suggestion  is  unnecessaiy. " 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  I  need  no  longer  fear  for 
you,  then,  that  most  ridiculous  of  feminine  blunders — a 
premature  retreat." 

For  a  moment  the  girl  stood  shamed,  bewildered,  in- 
dignant ;  but  of  a  sudden  her  pride  deserted  her.  She 
fell  on  her  knees,  burying  her  face  in  her  sister's  gown. 

"Althea,"  she  sobbed,  "I — I  want  to  go  home.  I  want 
to  go  to  mother.  I  am  homesick — so  homesick,  Althea, 
I  cannot  bear  it  any  longer.  I  must  go  home  to-morrow." 

Althea  took  the  tear-wet  face  between  her  hands, 
and  scanned  it  with  pitiless  eyes.  She  smiled  as  she  re- 
leased it. 

"A  retreat  invites  pursuit,"  she  said  ;  "and  no  one  can 
eay  that  you  have  forced  the  battle,  should  you  be  over- 
taken and — captured.  In  spite  of  your  innocence,  you 
are  a  diplomate,  my  Isolde.  Yes,  you  shall  go  home  to- 
morrow. I  will  pack  for  you,  to-night.  In  the  mean- 
time, put  on  your  prettiest  gown  and  your  merriest 
mood.  The  woman  who  covers  her  retreat  with  a  smile, 
converts  it  into  an  attack.  Like  the  crab,  she  advances 
— backing." 

Later,  as  the  Harriman  buggy  drew  up  at  the  Ledge 
gate,  Althea  hastened  down  to  meet  it. 

"You  have  played  the  cat  too  long,"  she  whispered  to 


118  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Steele.  "  The  tortured  mouse  is  escaping  you.  Her 
trunks  are  packed.  She  will  leave  Newfield  to-morrow." 
Then  she  turned  to  the  little  white  figure  poised  like  a 
fluttering  bird  on  the  gate-step,  and  pressed  a  kiss  on 
the  cheek  already  crimsoning  beneath  Steele  Harriman's 
eyes. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

THE    DANCE    IN    JENKINS*    BARN. 

"She  does  not  love  you  yet,  that  is,  not  consciously; 
but  the  possibility  of  love  is  revealing  itself.  She  is  in  your 
power.  You  may  waken  her  when  you  will." 

Althea  bad  spoken  the  words  lightly,  but  they  were 
not  light  words.  Instantaneously,  radiantly  as  a  light- 
ning-flash, they  had  revealed  to  Steele  Harriman  the 
hitherto  unrecognized  strength  of  the  passion  within  him. 
He  had  dreamed  it  but  a  bud,  a  young,  pale,  tender  bud, 
just  tinged  with  warmth  and  color  like  a  white  rose  at  the 
heart.  But  in  that  moment  of  revelation  it  had  burst 
from  its  bud  forever,  flashing  forth  in  the  majestic  matur- 
ity of  ripe  immortal  bloom. 

Until  now  he  had  kept,  instinctively,  a  strict  guard  on 
his  thoughts.  Resolved,  as  he  had  told  Althea,  to  retrieve 
the  old  life  before  committing  himself  to  the  new,  he  had 
realized,  though  scarcely  consciously,  that  in  the  mean- 
time his  self-control  must  be  absolute,  to  be  control  at 
all.  A  lover's  fancy  is  a  fiery  steed.  Once  given  its  head, 
the  bit  is  taken  between  its  teeth  beyond  the  restrictive 
power  of  curb  or  rein.  Excited  thoughts,  dreams,  visions, 
surged  like  waves  through  his  heated  brain.  She  was  so 
fair,  so  sweet,  so  young,  so  tender !  She  was  so  proud, 
so  yielding !  He  had  tasted  of  both  her  pride  and  her 
submission,  and  panted  to  drink  the  draught,  and  drain. 
So  frail !  With  a  rapturous,  triumphant  thrill  he  realized 


120  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

his  strength  against  her  weakness,  fancied  her  fluttering 
like  a  bird  in  his  heart's  close  toils — fluttering  wildly, 
vainly,  and  yielding  the  strife  at  last.  She  was  so  pure, 
so  pure  !  Her  spirit  had  soared  unsullied,  while  his  had 
trailed  soiled  pinions  in  the  dust.  Involuntarily  he  glanced 
in  the  direction  of  the  Freshet  cabin.  The  few  follies 
and  more  faults,  the  many  sins  of  his  life,  were  all  as 
nothing  beside  this  irretrievable  one.  Irretrievable?  No, 
it  could  not,  should  not,  be  that.  He  must,  please  God, 
he  would,  retrieve  it  for  love's  pure  sake.  The  means  of 
retrievement  he  would  consider  later ;  for  the  present,  let 
his  oath  suffice.  This  holy  hour  had  room  for  only  her, 
her,  her! 

He  turned  to  the  girl  at  his  side,  an  apology  for  his  ab- 
straction on  his  lips,  but  he  did  not  speak  it.  She,  too, 
was  engrossed  in  her  unspoken  dream.  Her  eyes  were 
tixed  on  the  far  mountains.  Her  upturned  face  was  lu- 
minous, as  from  the  light  of  divine  vision.  Beside  him, 
she  was  as  yet  as  far  above  him  as  the  evening's  vestal 
star. 

"You  are  looking  not  at  the  mountains,  but  beyond 
them,"  he  said.  "  I  see  but  the  symbol ;  you  the  mean- 
ing. What  is  it  ?  " 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  they  are  God's  alle- 
gory— the  natural  typification  of  the  human,  even  as  the 
human  is  the  typification  of  the  Divine.  Every  phase  of 
human  life  is  pictured  in  them.  The  plain  is  our  child- 
hood, sunlit  with  love,  flowered  with  caresses,  songful 
with  laughter  and  lullaby,  and  tender  mother- words.  The 
foothills  are  our  youth,  sunlit,  flowered,  songful  still ;  but 
with  occasional  lonely,  shadowed,  bleak,  still  stretches 
which  we  must  climb  alone.  The  mountain  is  maturity. 
Here  the  sun  is  brightest,  the  bloom  most  bountiful,  the 


A  SON   OF  ESAU.  121 

song  most  rich  and  sweet ;  here,  too,  is  the  shadow  darkest, 
the  waste  most  dreary,  the  way  most  steep.  Higher  up,  at 
the  summit,  waits  Age ;  a  realm  of  cloud,  a  twilight  shore, 
cradle  of  the  mists,  birthplace  of  the  mountain-shadows. 
A  dark  cavern  lurks  within  it.  We  call  it  Death.  An 
ice-cold  blast  strikes  us  and  bears  us  through  it,  above 
the  cloud-palled  mountain-top.  We  do  not  feel  the  pas- 
sage, we  drift  through  it,  in  a  dream.  When  we  wake, 
the  mountain  is  below  us.  Before,  above  us,  heaven — 
past  the  summit  gates  of  snow ! " 

His  eyes,  like  flames,  flashed  on  her. 

" There  is  only  one  heaven  for  man,"  he  cried:  "the 
heaven  of  love." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "for  God  is  love." 

"But  I  mean  human  love,  woman's  love!"  he  cried, 
recklessly. 

She  answered  him  with  startled,  shrinking,  uncon- 
sciously questioning  eyes. 

Words  of  passionate  avowal  rushed  to  his  lips,  but  he 
forced  them  back.  Not  yet,  not  here,  not  thus !  In  a 
dim  and  dreamful  way  he  had  pictured  the  environment 
he  would  choose.  He  was  tempted  to  smile  at  the  ab- 
surd lover-like  thought  that  suggested  itself,  that  his  arms 
now  claimed  by  his  spirited  team,  must  be  free — free  to 
fold,  to  hold,  to  press,  to  crush — he  pulled  himself  up 
with  a  sharp  breath.  Jove  !  what  a  thing  a  man's  love  is ! 
Do  men  love  in  vain,  and  live  ? 

He  controlled  himself,  but  not  before  his  face  had  be- 
trayed him.  Incomplete  as  the  betrayal  was,  it  startled 
her.  She  felt  in  every  thrilling,  quivering  nerve  the  pre- 
monition of  an  undefined,  yet  imminent,  personal  dan- 
ger. The  tremulous,  nervous  eagerness  with  which  she 
broke  the  perilous  silence  appealed  to  his  manly  chivalry. 


122  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Poor  little,  white-winged  bird  fluttering  in  shadow  of  the 
net,  let  her  flutter  with  free  wings  while  she  might. 

"  You  have  never  been  to  a  Harvest  Home  ?  "  he  asked 
her,  smiling  at  her  ingenuous  relief  at  his  commonplace 
words.  "  It  is  an  autumnal  religious  festival,  you  know, 
to  which  Newfield  adds  a  social  appendix.  We  are  too 
late  for  the  service,  but  we  will  drive  around  by  the 
church  and  give  you  a  peep  at  the  interior,  whose  vegeta- 
ble decorations  are  unique  if  not  beautiful.  Pumpkins  take 
the  place  of  roses,  and  grains  of  smilax.  The  service  is 
one  of  thanksgiving." 

He  drew  up  at  the  little  white  church  as  he  spoke. 
The  doors  were  open.  Through  them  flashed  the  gold 
and  red  and  purple  of  the  harvest  decorations.  The 
walls  were  hung  with  the  boughs  of  fruit  and  draped 
with  grape-vines,  the  corners  stacked  with  corn  and 
grain-sheaves,  the  chancel  heaped  with  green  and  yellow 
melons,  red  "  love-apples,"  golden  pumpkins — all  the 
glowing  vivid  treasure  of  harvest's  luscious  store.  The 
words  of  the  final  hymn  floated  clearly  over  the  still 
night : 

"  0  Lord !  spring  and  summer, 

In  sunshine  and  rain, 
We  grafted  the  orchards, 

We  planted  the  grain. 
On  fields  lying  fallow, 

By  night  and  by  day 
The  good  seed  we  scattered, 

And  Thou  dost  repay. 
Now  ripe  is  our  harvest 

For  sickle  and  wain; 
Fruits  glow  in  our  orchards, 

Our  fields  glint  with  grain  ; 
Our  meadows  are  golden 


A  SON   OF  ESAU.  123 

With  hay  new  and  sweet ; 
Our  corn  waits  the  husking, 

The  flail  waits  our  wheat. 
For  seed-time  and  harvest, 

In  humble  award, 
We  bless  Thee,  we  praise  Thee, 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Lord  I 

1 '  Lo,  Lord,  on  Thine  altar 

Our  first-fruits  we  lay — 
Corn  juicy  with  kernels, 

Oats  ripe  on  the  spray ; 
Sheaves  poppied  and  heavy 

With  succulent  wheat, 
And  fruit  of  the  vineyard, 

Round,  purple,  and  sweet; 
Young  apples  still  fragrant 

And  pink  with  the  May, 
Plums  dusky  and  golden 

In  mellow  array; 
Herbs  tasselled  and  tender, 

Nuts  swelling  with  meat, 
Combs  flowing  with  honey, 

We  lay  at  Thy  feet. 
For  first-fruits  and  last-fruits, 

In  humble  award, 
We  bless  Thee,  we  praise  Thee, 

We  thank  Thee,  O  Lord ! 

"  0  Lord,  of  all  harvests, 

We,  too,  are  Thy  grain  ; 
Swift  Time  Thy  sure  sickle, 

And  Death  Thy  dark  wain ! 
Our  souls,  be  they  fallow 

Or  sown  with  bad  seed, 
Thine  anger  shall  perish, 

As  tempest  the  reed. 
Sin  sweeps  like  a  whirlwind — 

We  breast  it  in  vain  ; 


124  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Our  corn  runs  to  cockle, 

To  chaff  our  good  grain. 
Thy  sowing  is  scattered, 

And  tares  choke  Thy  seed, 
Yet  reap  not  in  vengeance 

Nor  anger,  we  plead. 
As  love  was  Thy  sower, 

Be  Mercy  Thy  sword, 
And  garner  Thy  harvest 

In  Heaven,  O  Lord  !  " 


As  the  service  ended,  Steele  touched  his  team  with  the 
whip,  and  the  carriage  whirled  out  of  sight  of  the  out- 
pouring congregation. 

"We  will  take  the  long  way  round  to  the  barn,"  he 
said,  turning  into  a  by-road,  "  and  give  the  natives  time  to 
assemble.  Jenkins'  barn  and — you  ?  What  a  ridiculous, 
incongruous  association.  Suppose  we  forego  the  dance 
and  take  a  drive  toward  the  mountains  instead,  with  the 
harvest-moon  to  light  us  ?  " 

He  smiled  at  her  eager  disclaimer.  He  had  known  that 
she  would  refuse,  even  as  he  asked  her.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, her  acceptance  would  have  discomfited  him. 
Her  refusal  did  not. 

Jenkins'  barn  was  not,  as  the  uninitiated  might  sup- 
pose, a  hay-filled  outbuilding  of  the  Jenkins'  farm  ;  but  an 
empty  shed  rising  from  a  tract  of  pasture-land,  and  un- 
used in  winter  save  as  a  temporary  shelter  for  man  and 
beast.  With  the  advent  of  the  warmer  season,  however, 
its  festive  days  began.  Picnic-parties  spread  their  lunch- 
eons under  its  noon-day  shade ;  riders  halted  within  its 
spacious  grounds  ;  and  many  a  lover's  "  buggy-ride  "  was 
interluded  by  a  merry  dance  upon  its  starlit  floor.  On 
the  present  occasion  the  barn  was  trimmed  with  boughs, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  125 

and  hung  with  lanterns  shining  like  Argus-eyes  upon  the 
dark  roads  ringing  with  hoofs  and  wheels. 

As  they  entered,  the  nondescript  instrument  strained 
of  back  and  screechy  of  strings,  which  the  proud  manipu- 
lator thereof  fondly  designated  as  a  "  vy'lin,"  struck  into 
the  jiggy  measure  of  the  "  Arkansas  Traveller !  "  Lanterns 
swayed  from  the  high  brown  rafters,  and  blazed  in  fiery 
groups  from  the  corner  beams  ;  while  rows  of  tallow  can- 
dles sputtered  along  the  walls,  a  favored  few  set  in  tin 
sconces,  but  the  majority  consigned  to  humbler  candela- 
bras  made  of  pine  laths  closely  spiked  with  sharp-pointed 
nails.  From  one  end  of  the  barn,  whence  the  odor  of 
cider  floated,  shone  a  bin  of  ruddy  apples,  faced  by  a  row 
of  tables  spread  with  cakes,  cookies,  and  doughnuts. 
Dancers  were  already  upon  the  floor,  but  the  majority  of 
the  company  still  lingered  about  the  doorway.  The 
Hunter  sisters,  fluttering  with  vivacity  and  ribbons, 
descended  upon  Isolde  as  Steele  found  her  a  seat. 

"  We  had  given  you  up,"  cried  Milly,  shrilly,  "  and  were 
just  about  to  melt  into  tears  on  the  spot.  Not  for  you — 
don't  take  that  sweet  unction  to  your  credulous  soul ;  but 
because  it  goes  without  saying,  as  the  dear  French  say,  that 
unless  you  brought  him,  we  should  pine  in  vain  for  our 
best  dancer,  Steele  Harriman,  Esquire,  Banker  of  New- 
field  ! " 

"  Banker  of  Newfield,"  reiterated  Cilly. 

The  B.  O.  N.  bowed  profoundly. 

The  vy'lin  aforesaid,  having  followed  the  "  Arkansas 
Traveller  "  to  his  journey's  end,  had  been  squirming  and 
squeaking  in  ineffectual  struggles  to  wrest  from  its  inner 
anatomy  an  evasive  tune.  Finally,  however,  its  persist- 
ence triumphed,  and  through  the  barn  quavered  the 
plaintive  tune  of  an  old-fashioned  waltz. 


12G  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

" '  Being  in  Rome,' "  suggested  Steele,  "  shall  we  not 
dance  just  this  one  waltz?" 

As  Isolde  assented,  there  was  a  stir  at  the  entrance,  fol- 
lowed by  a  general  surprised  exclamation  of  admiration, 
as  the  regal  form  of  Freshet  Sal  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

She  wore  a  gown  of  some  brilliaiit-hued,  large-figured 
fabric,  open  at  the  throat,  and  disclosing  her  beautiful 
arms  to  the  shoulder.  Large  golden  hoops  dangled  from 
her  ears,  and  on  her  upper  arms  shone  a  pair  of  massive 
bracelets.  Her  hair,  coiled  about  her  head  like  a  crown, 
was  surmounted  by  a  glittering  comb.  Her  eyes  were 
dazzling  ;  her  cheeks  warmly  flushed  ;  her  vivid  lips 
parted  in  a  triumphant  smile.  She  paused  for  an  instant, 
in  evident  gratification  at  the  impression  made  by  her 
beauty,  and  then  walked  proudly  down  the  floor  to  Steele 
Harriman,  whose  arm  already  encircled  Isolde. 

"  Whar  I  hail  fro',"  she  said,  halting  before  him,  and 
speaking  in  a  loud  clear  voice,  "theer's  a  dance  called 
'Gals'  Choosin's,'  an'  th'  man  as  shirks  dancin'  it  wi'  th' 
gal  as  axes  him  is  shot  down  dead  by  her  men-folks.  This 
'yer  dance  is  '  Gals'  Choosin's '  fur  me,  an'  I  ax  Steele 
Harriman  ter  foot  it  wi'  me." 

The  vy'lin  had  hushed  its  quavering  strings,  the  dancers 
paused  in  their  half-tripped  measures.  There  was  a  gen- 
eral surge  toward  the  couple.  Steele's  eyes  rested  calmly 
on  Sal's  excited  face. 

"I  am  already  engaged  for  this  waltz,"  he  said.  "It  is 
the  only  dance  I  shall  dance  to-night." 

He  turned  back  to  Isolde. 

"  You  are  quite  free,"  she  said,  drawing  back, 
haughtily.  In  his  excitement  he  did  not  heed  her. 

Sal  stood  looking  at  him  helplessly,  all  the  animation 
and  triumph  dying  out  of  her  face.  She  had  been  so 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  127 

sure  of  her  victory,  so  proud  in  her  anticipation  of  this 
public  proof  of  her  power,  and  he  was  daring  to  defy  her. 
Her  eyes  gleamed  ominously  ;  she  began  to  twist  her 
hands,  and  to  sway  backward  and  forward,  suggesting  a 
beautiful  tigress  lashing  itself  to  rage. 

"I  say  yo'  shall,  yo'  shall!"  she  panted.  "I  bean't 
agoin'  ter  be  set  back  afore  all  these  'yer  folks.  Yo'll 
dance  this  dance  wi'  me,  Steele  Harriman,  or  I'll — 

rn- 

In  the  crowd  that  had  pressed  about  them  there  was  a 
sudden  break.  A  man  who  since  Sal's  entrance  had  lin- 
gered in  the  background,  a  tall,  fair,  sinewy  man,  clad  in 
the  red-shirted  dust-begrimed  undress  of  an  engineer,  was 
forcing  his  way  to  the  front.  As  he  passed,  some  of  the 
women  shrieked,  and  a  man's  oath  was  audible.  His 
hand,  lifted  suddenly  to  his  belt,  had  drawn  forth  and 
was  proceeding  to  cock  a  revolver. 

As  he  reached  Sal's  side,  by  only  a  gesture  did  Steele 
acknowledge  his  presence.  With  a  backward  swing  of 
his  strong  arm  he  put  Isolde  behind  him. 

"  This  'yer  gal  an'  me,"  said  the  man,  slowly,  "  is  old 
friends  an'  'quaintunces,  an'  theer  bein'  none  o'  her  men- 
kin'  'yer  ter  tek  up  this  'yer  little  darncin'  matter  fur  her, 
I  reck'n  ez  th"  shootin'  falls  to  me.  '  Gals'  Choosin's '  's 
b'en  th'  bull's-eye  fur  more'n  one  shot  in  its  day,  an' I 
reck'n  ez  it  '11  be  un  'yer  ter-night  ef  'tain't  footed  lively. 
'Yer's  her,  an'  'yer's  me,  an'  both  o'  us  avvaitin'  on  yo', 
young  feller.  Jest  tek  yer  ch'ice  atwixt  us." 

"  Jim  !  "  cried  Sal,  wildly. 

An  unwritten  law  of  Newfield  etiquette  enjoined  that  a 
fair  fight  should  be  unspoiled  by  any  friendly  interfer- 
ence. That  the  fight  should  be  a  fair  one,  however,  was 
an  indispensable  condition.  From  the  crowd  behind  a 


123  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

hand  was  extended  over  Steele's  shoulder.  It  offered  a 
pistol.  He  waved  it  aside. 

"  You  forget,"  he  said,  "  that  there  are  ladies  present." 

"  Th'  wiminen-folks  kin  git  outside.  I'll  giv'  'em  time," 
said  Jim,  grimly. 

Not  a  petticoat  rustled,  but  as  the  revolver  lifted  there 
was  a  chorus  of  feminine  shrieks.  Simultaneously  a 
dozen  men  leaped  toward  the  engineer  to  disarm  him  ; 
but  Sal  was  before  them.  With  one  quick  gesture  she 
had  wrested  the  pistol  from  his  hand,  and  flung  it  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd,  through  the  open  door.  As  it 
fell,  it  struck  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  There  was  a 
flash,  a  sharp  crackling  report,  and  a  thin  line  of  smoke 
floated  up  toward  the  moonlight.  Over  the  applause 
that  greeted  her  act,  her  voice  rang  angrily. 

"  Yo're  a  fool,  Jim  Oakes,"  she  cried,  "  an'  your  fool- 
gun's  anuther.  Th'  next  time  yo'  go  shootin'  fur  me — 
wait  till  yo're  axed !  " 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  had  made  her  way  through  the 
crowd  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  After  a  discon- 
certed hesitation  the  disarmed  man  shuffled  after  her,  fol- 
lowed by  jeers  and  threats.  In  gaping  and  exclamatory 
curiosity  the  crowd  watched  the  couple  till  the  last  gro- 
tesque line  of  their  shadows,  gigantic  in  the  magnifying 
moonlight,  was  merged  in  the  mingled  light  and  darkness 
of  the  tree-shadowed  road.  At  this  juncture  the  vy'lin 
struck  up  a  tune.  The  crowd  broke  into  groups  and 
couples,  and  then  ensued  a  moment  of  indecision,  during 
which  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  young  banker. 
Without  a  word  he  turned  to  Isolde,  and  whirled  her  into 
the  centre  of  the  floor.  In  another  instant  the  dancing 
was  resumed. 

It  was  not  until  the  waltz  was  fully  under  way  that 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  129 

Steele  awoke  to  a  realization  of  the  resistance  made  by 
Isolde  as  he  had  drawn  her  to  him.  She  had  yielded  for 
the  moment,  rather  than  cause  another  scene,  but  he 
now  comprehended  that  her  submission  was  only  physical. 
Had  he  lost  her  ?  In  the  thought  he  forgot  the  occasion, 
the  circumstances,  the  vigilant  spectators ;  forgot  all  save 
that,  perhaps,  for  the  last  sweet  time,  he  had  his  arms 
around  her.  He  folded  her  passionately,  almost  fiercely  to 
him.  As  his  eyes  sought  her  averted  face  he  saw  it  pale, 
and  felt  her  light  form  sway  in  his  arms.  With  a  few 
adroit  turns  he  guided  her  through  the  doorway  into  the 
shadow  of  the  nearest  pine.  She  leaned  against  the  trunk, 
shrinking  from  his  arms  in  shuddering  repulse.  The  ac- 
tion was  a  fateful  one.  In  the  hours  that  had  elapsed  be- 
tween his  parting  with  Althea  and  his  return  to  the  Ledge 
gate,  he  had  resolved  to  do  by  this  pure  and  trustful  girl 
as  she  should  be  done  by,  and  to  his  confession  of  love 
add  a  confession  of  his  unworthiness — of  his  sin  and  his 
remorse.  But  now  his  heart  failed  him.  There  was  a 
rigidity  about  her  moral  attitude  that  he  knew  instinc- 
tively would  not  relax.  The  unwelcome  conviction  forced 
itself  upon  him  that  such  confession  as  he  had  meditated 
would  part  her  from  him  forever.  Should  he,  as  his  soul 
besought  him,  dare  all,  at  the  risk  of  losing  all  ?  or  should 
he  woo  her,  win  her,  in  untruth  and  dishonor,  guarding 
his  shameful  secret  till  even  its  revelation  could  not  set 
her  free?  Which?  which?  Her  repellent  gesture  an- 
swered him.  His  resolve  was  taken.  To  reveal  the  truth 
was  to  lose  her.  He  would  win  her  by  a  lie. 

"  An  explanation,  as  well  as  an  apology,  is  clue  you," 
he  said.  "  If  I  sully  your  ears  with  a  shameful  story,  it  is 
because  I  have  no  choice.  The  woman  is  the  unwedded 
mother  of  my  dead  brother's  child.  To  shield  his  name, 


130  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

to  spare  my  father  the  bitter  pain  and  shame  knowledge 
of  the  truth  would  give  him,  I  guard  the  secret.  Feeling 
a  personal  duty  to  Jack's  child,  however,  I  give  the  woman, 
who,  wild  and  savage  creature  as  she  is,  is  a  passionately 
tender  mother,  no  choice  between  surrendering  the  child — 
in  which  case  I  should  tell  my  father  the  whole  story,  and 
openly  adopt  it — and  keeping  the  secret  of  its  parentage, 
while  living  here,  where  I  can  personally  care  for  its  wel- 
fare. Her  defiance  of  rne  to-night  was  her  revenge.  The 
unhappy  affair  would  be  a  complex  problem  did  the  shad- 
ow of  death  not  solve  it.  The  child  will  be  in  its  grave 
within  a  year.  Therefore  I  bend  to  the  painful  yoke  iu 
patience.  You,  who  to-night  have  shared  it,  shall  judge 
for  me  whether  I  shall  submit  still,  or  cast  it  off." 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  cried.  "Bear  it  to  the  end,  till 
God's  hand  lifts  it. "  Her  lifted  face  was  radiant,  even 
reverent.  "  You  are  good,"  she  murmured,  "  good,  and 
true,  and  noble.  And  I  made  it  harder  for  you.  O,  I  beg 
your  pardon,  I  do  indeed  !  " 

He  turned  away  abruptly.  Backing  the  carriage  out  of 
the  shed,  he  assisted  her  into  it.  The  homeward  drive 
was  taken  in  silence.  At  the  Ledge,  however,  with  the 
gate  between  them,  she  spoke  to  him  over  her  shoulder. 

"  I  shall  go  home  to-morrow,"  she  faltered.  "  Thank 
you  for  all  your  kindness.  Good-by.  " 

He  bowed  in  silence.  The  Ledge  door  was  open. 
Hitching  his  team,  he  followed  her  through  it  into  the 
empty  parlor,  lighted  only  by  the  moonbeams  flickering 
through  the  crimson  upper  panes. 

"  You  will  go  home  to-morrow !  "  he  repeated,  softly. 
"  When  shall  you  come  back  ?  " 

She  was  very  pale  as  she  turned  and  faced  him,  but  her 
erect  figure  looked  tall  and  rigid.  She  had  braced  her- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  131 

self,  not  for  defeat,  but  for  victory.  On  the  silence 
her  voice  fell  sharply,  suddenly,  like  an  unsheathed  blade. 

"I  will  never  come  back,"  she  said. 

He  smiled  slowly,  and  took  a  step  toward  her.  She 
would  have  shrunk  back,  but  his  masterful  eyes  were  on 
her. 

"When  will  you  come  back,"  he  repeated,  "back — 
to  me  ?  " 

The  wind  wavered  by,  rustling  the  leaves  of  the  cotton- 
woods.  A  wakened  bird  trilled  dreamfully  to  its  sleeping 
mate.  A  moonbeam,  striking  through  the  ruddy  paue, 
lingered  upon  the  girl's  uplifted  face. 

Was  it  that  roseate  glow,  or  the  luminous  dove-like  eyes 
that  answered  him  ? 

"  Isolde  ! "  he  cried.     "  Isolde ! " 

And  the  bird  without  trembled  down  in  its  nest,  and 
was  stilL 


CHAPTER  XL 

SAL    RECEIVES    A    CALL,    AND    MAKES    ONE. 

On  the  afternoon  following  the  Jenkins  dance,  the 
Rev.  Father  Harney,  the  Catholic  priest  of  the  parish, 
passing  the  Freshet  on  his  round  of  parochial  calls,  was 
inspired  to  knock  at  the  door  of  Sal's  cabin.  He  was  a 
young  priest,  recently  ordained,  and  naturally  of  a  sensi- 
tive and  retiring  disposition ;  and  it  was  not  without  fear 
lest  his  zeal  should  render  him  intrusive  that  he  entered 
the  cabin  at  Sal's  sullen  bidding.  The  humble  exterior 
of  the  cabin  had  prepared  him  for  an  interior  of  poverty, 
but  not  for  the  rude  comfort  and  barbaric  decoration 
which  the  equipment  of  the  cabin  presented.  Rugs  of 
unmounted  skins  were  scattered  over  the  bare  pine- boards, 
and  from  the  farther  wall  protruded  the  antlered  head  of 
a  monster  stag.  In  one  corner  stood  a  gun;  above  it 
hung  a  poignard  it  its  sheath,  beside  a  brace  of  pistols. 
From  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  dangled  an  Indian  bow  and 
arrow  of  ancient  barbarous  design.  In  the  background 
swung  a  Mexican  hammock  heaped  with  robes.  A  couple 
of  wicker  chairs  were  set  against  the  wall.  A  gilt-framed 
mirror,  hung  on  the  Freshet  side  of  the  cabin,  reflected 
the  only  other  conventional  ornament  of  the  room — a 
gaudily-framed  painting  of  Sal  herself,  extravagant  in  col- 
oring, inartistic  in  pose,  crude  in  treatment,  but  true, 
strikingly  true,  in  likeness.  Below  this  picture  stood  a 
small  round  table  upon  which,  beside  a  modern  lamp,  a 
handsomely  bound  Bible  was  lying. 


A   SON  OF  ESAU.  133 

Sal,  seated  by  the  table  with  her  child  in  her  arms, 
vouchsafed  the  young  priest  no  further  welcome  than  a 
look  of  defiant  inquiry.  He  hesitated,  at  a  loss  how  to 
approach  this  beautiful,  savage,  incongruous  creature,  till 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  gilt-framed  portrait. 

"What  a  striking  likeness!"  he  exclaimed,  drawing 
nearer  to  examine  it.  "As  a  portrait  it  is  absolutely  per- 
fect. When  was  it  painted  ?  " 

In  spite  of  herself  she  looked  mollified.  "  Five  years 
ago,"  she  admitted,  "  afore  Waif  'yer  war  born.  I  war  a 
harnsum  gal  then,  ef  I  do  say  it.  Th'  feller  ez  painted 
that  theer  went  crazy  over  me.  I  war  happy  then.  Folks 
war  clever  to  me.  I  warn't  dirt  under  theer  feet,  ez  I  be 
now.  Some  day  I'll  burn  it,  when  Waif  'yer's  dead.  She's 
dyin'.  She's  b'en  dyin'  ever  sin'  she  war  born.  Folks 
sez  it's  best  fur  her.  Likely  'tis ;  but  she's  all  I've  get- 
ten.  Theer's  none  ez  keers  wots  best  fur  me." 

"  Yes,  Sal,  there  is  One  who  cares.  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  are,  or  are  not,  one  of  my  fold  ;  but,"  as  she 
shook  her  head  in  negation,  "  we  are  all  children  of  the 
one  good  Father." 

He  smiled  sunnily,  but  there  was  no  response  on  Sal's 
sullen  face.  Little  Waif,  however,  was  more  amicably 
disposed.  Emerging  from  the  folds  of  the  shawl  into 
which  she  had  collapsed  temporarily,  she  suffered  herself, 
though  not  without  tremors  and  backslidings,  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  his  knees.  She  was  a  sunny-haired,  snowdrop- 
faced  little  creature,  whose  great  blue  eyes  looked  out 
piteously  from  the  purple  circles  that  surrounded  them. 
These  tell-tale  shadows  were  the  only  visible  signs  of  the 
cruel  infirmity  that  was  slowly  but  surely  sapping  the 
childish  life. 

The  young  priest  folded  her  in  gentle  arms,  a  patheti- 


134  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

cally  tender  look  on  his  face.  He  had  sacrificed  all  sweet 
human  affections  upon  the  altar  of  the  Divine,  but  the 
father-heart  still  beat  within  him.  He  stooped  until  his 
cheek  rested  on  the  childish  golden  hair. 

"  God  bless  His  own  dear  little  child  !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Canny?  "  suggested  Waif,  her  little  hands  wandering 
hopefully  toward  his  pocket. 

"  Not  candy  this  time,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  he  said,  re- 
gretfully ;  "  but  " — a  sudden  bright  idea  striking  him — 
"  pictures,  yes  !  " 

From  an  inner  pocket  he  took  his  breviary,  slipping 
from  between  its  leaves  some  lace-edged  cards  printed  in 
pretty  colors.  At  Waif's  cry  of  delight,  Sal's  face  relaxed. 

"  Thank  yo'  kindly,"  she  said.  "  'Taint  many  folks  ez 
thinks  o'  her,  an'  it's  her  mother  she's  getten  ter  thank  fur 
it — her  mother  !  It's  a  hard  world.  Ef  'twaru't  fur  her, 
I'd  inter  th'  Freshet,  an'  be  out  o'  it." 

There  were  hot  tears  gathering  in  her  sombre  eyea 
Her  proud  lips  trembled.  Since  the  previous  night  she  had 
been  in  a  bitter,  resentful  mood,  but  a  look  in  the  young 
priest's  face  had  softened  her.  It  was  a  look  which  she 
seemed  to  recognize  and  understand  ;  a  chastened  look 
of  patient  suffering  and  renunciation  ;  a  look  of  peace 
born  of  sore  struggle ;  of  rest  won  through  long  weariness 
and  pain.  A  strangled  sob  broke  from  her. 

"Yo're  a  parson,"  she  panted,  "an'  kin  chapter  an' 
varse  all  day  fur  them  ez  does  th'  wrong.  Be  theer  a  word 
in  all  th'  Good  Book,  I  ax  yo',  be  theer — fur  them  us  is 
done  wrong  by?" 

"Yes, "he  replied,  "a  word  from  Him  to  whom  the 
sorest  of  all  wrongs  was  done,  even  unto  death.  It  is, 
'  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do.'  " 

There  was  a  sudden  radiance  in  the  room  as  the  beams 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  135 

of  the  setting  sun  turned  from  gold  to  crimson.  Over  the 
silence  the  Freshet  waters  chanted.  A  flock  of  birds  on 
nestward  flight  twittered  a  vesper  choral. 

"  Sal,"  said  the  priest,  "  try  to  say  the  word — with 
Him." 

"  I  can't,"  she  cried.  "  It's  ag'in'  natur'.  I'd  say  it  will- 
iu'  ef  death  war  th'  only  hurt,  but  it's  life,  it's  life,  that's 
wrongin"  me !  " 

She  stepped  to  the  window  opening  on  the  Freshet 
waters,  and  leaned  far  out  When  she  drew  in  her  head 
she  was  calmer. 

"I'm  a  fool  ter  be  so  free-spoke,"  she  said,  "but  I 
know'd  a  good  parson  onct,  an'  suthin'  about  yo'  'minds  me 
o'  him.  He  gev  me  that  theer  Bible  yonder.  He  writ  i'side 
o'  it." 

He  opened  the  Bible  in  silence,  waiting  for  her  to 
speak  on.  He  was  certain  that  she  would  speak  on. 

"  It  war  when  I  war  a  girl,"  she  broke  out,  "  an'  hevin'  a 
hard  life,  thro'  bein'  young,  an'  poor,  an'  harnsun.  Theer 
war  more  like  me,  but  they  all  went — under.  Gentlefolks 
war  theer,  yo'  see — overseers  an'  owners  an'  sech." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  he  said,  pitifully. 

"  Mebbe  I  war't  jest  like  'em,"  she  said  ;  "  mebbel  war 
prouder'r  an'  fiercer'r,  ez  they  said.  Leastwise,  I  held  out 
longer'r.  But  last  off,  I  got  tired,  an'  dizzy ;  an'  suthin 
sez  ter  me  :  '  Wot's  th'  use,  Sal,  wot's  th'  use  ? '  An'  jest 
then  kern  a  parson  ter  th'  camp  an'  saved  me." 

She  did  not  notice  the  priest's  start  of  surprise  as  he 
bent  over  the  Bible,  nor  the  sudden  flush  which  had  risen 
to  his  face  as  he  listened  to  her. 

"  His  name,"  she  said,  "  war  Harney.  He  war  a  good 
man,  a  good  man  !  Ef  thar's  aught  o'  bad  I've  kep'  fro', 
it's  him  I've  getten  ter  thank  fur  it." 


136  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"I  am  happy  to  hear  you  say  that,  Sal,"  he  replied.  "He 
is  a  good  man.  He  is  my  brother;  my  half-brother,  born 
of  the  same  mother.  Our  fathers  were  cousins." 

She  started  incredulously  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  cowered  down  in  her  chair,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  she  cried  :  "  not  your  brother,  fur  yo' 
ter  tell — not  your  brother,  fur  yo'  ter  fetch  an'  shame 
me " 

With  a  wild  laugh  she  interrupted  herself. 

"It  war  all  a  lie,"  she  said.  "I'm  a  bad  un,  I  be.  I 
war  a-foolin'  o'  yo',  a-foolin'  o'  yo' !  " 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  snatched  Waif  from  his  arms 
and  darted  past  him  out  of  the  cabin  into  the  Ledge 
road. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  the  twilight,  dim  and  dewy,  en- 
compassed her.  A  soft  west  wind  was  blowing,  sweet 
with  the  scent  of  hay.  The  prairie-grass  was  billowing, 
green  grass  no  longer,  but  touched  with  brighter  hues  of 
gold  and  crimson,  deepening,  here  and  there,  to  umber. 
Birds  flitted  from  tree  to  tree,  chirping  as  they  flew.  The 
misty  peaks  of  the  mountains  were  carved  in  blue  relief 
against  the  darkening  sky.  Above  them  hung  a  faintly 
luminous  crescent ;  and  in  comparative  adjacence  shone 
forth  in  lonely  radiance  the  evening  star. 

At  the  Ledge  gate  the  woman  stopped  and  looked  about 
her.  Why  was  she  here  ?  She  had  not  meant  to  come 
here — yet.  Ah !  but  had  she  not  meant  it  ?  Brooding 
over  her  bitter  wrong,  her  torturing  shame,  with  the  jeers 
and  taunts  that  had  maddened  her  on  the  previous  night 
still  ringing  in  her  ears,  had  she  not  sworn  to  make  this 
very  journey,  gloating  maliciously  over  the  vengeance  it 
implied  ?  Her  hand,  as  it  touched  the  gate,  suddenly 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  137 

faltered.  Something  restful,  peaceful,  holy  in  the  gather- 
ing dusk  arrested  it.  Her  eyes  wandered  to  the  moun- 
tains, whose  mists  were  blending  with  the  shadowy 
twilight.  Down  from  their  heights'  dim  realms  a  winged 
wind  fluttered,  wafting  an  angel's  whisper  as  it  rustled  by : 

" Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do" 

She  turned  irresolutely,  and  retraced  a  few  steps  tow- 
ard the  cabin.  Should  she  relinquish  the  revenge  to 
which  she  had  been  spurring  herself  through  all  the  rest- 
less, sleepless,  miserable  night  ?  The  scene  whose  mem- 
ory scorched  her  haughty  spirit  flashed  before  her — the 
lighted  barn,  the  mocking  crowd,  the  scornful  laughs, 
the  taunting  faces !  Relinquish  her  revenge  !  No,  a 
thousand  times,  no  !  She  lifted  the  latch  and  passed  in 
resolutely. 

Gaylord,  playing  on  the  lawn,  ran  gayly  down  to  meet 
her. 

"  Det  down  an*  yun,"  he  invited  Waif,  cordially. 

"Tan't!"  she  sighed,  shaking  her  golden  curls.  "My 
'egs  is  sick.  Dey's  doin'  to  be  well,  to  heav'n." 

"'Ou  won't  have  legs  in  heav'n,"  corrected  Gaylord. 
"  'Ou'll  be  a  little  angel,  an'  have  wings." 

"  I'll  jes'  have  bof  !  " 

"  O— o— h  !     Dat's  a  'towy." 

Waif  tossed  her  curls,  indignantly. 

"  'Towy  'ouse'f,  boy  !  "  she  retorted.  "  Ain't — ain't 
birdies  dot  'egs  ?  " 

Gaylord  was  staggered,  but  not  convinced. 

"Birds  isn't  angels,"  he  insisted,  stoutly. 

Waif  hesitated  ;  then  a  bright  thought  struck  her. 

"  Dey  is,"  she  cried.  "  'Tourse  dey  is,  'tause  dey's  dot 
wings ! " 

Attracted  by  the  voices  Althea  looked  out,  and  discover- 


138  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

ing  Sal,  hastened  down  to  meet  her,  not  on  hospitable 
greeting  intent.  She  had  had  a  surprise,  not  an  agreeable 
one,  in  the  unexpected  return  of  her  husband,  scarcely 
an  hour  before.  In  his  face,  as  she  retailed  the  little 
fiction  of  her  mother's  illness  and  Isolde's  sudden  recall, 
which  in  the  watches  of  the  night  she  had  invented  for  the 
satisfaction  of  inquiring  Newfield,  she  had  read  that  Dr. 
Keene  had  forestalled,  betrayed  her  ;  and  that  George  was 
not  to  be  thus  easily  deceived.  Therefore  she  felt  al- 
ready in  a  difficult  and  precarious  position  :  and  that 
Freshet  Sal  should  so  inopportunely  appear  to  aggravate 
matters,  was  not  to  be  endured.  Midway  up  the  path  she 
met  and  stopped  her. 

"To  what,"  she  asked  with  scathing  emphasis,  "do  I 
owe  the  unexpected  honor  of  this  call  ?  " 

"  I  bean't  a-goin'  ter  be  set  back  by  enny  o'  your  fine- 
lady  words,"  said  Sal,  sulkily.  "  I  kem  yer  ter  see*'Soldy 
Sterlin',  an'  see  her  I  will !  " 

Althea  smiled  triumphantly. 

"  'Soldy  Sterling,  as  you  most  ignorantly  and  impu- 
dently call  her,"  she  said,  "  left  Newfield  at  noon.  You 
are  too  late,  my  woman,  too  late  !  " 

Sal  had  already  turned  away,  when  George  Rounds  over- 
took her.  He  greeted  her  courteously  as  he  laid  a  de- 
taining hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  My  girl,"  he  asked,  "  will  you  tell  me  your  errand  ?  " 

"  'Twar  a  fool  un,"  she  cried,  "  a  fool  un,  ef — ef " 

He  read  her  unspoken  doubt. 

"Believe  me,"  he  said,  "it  is  as  my  wife  tells  you. 
Miss  Sterling  is  gone,  and  for  good." 

An  amused  expression  flitted  across  Althea's  face.  He 
caught  it.  He  drew  her  aside,  and  scanned  her  face  with 
troubled  eyes. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  139 

"  Althea,"  he  said,  "  remember  that  if  you  play  me  false 
in  this,  we  are  parted  forever." 

Althea  turned  to  Sal. 

"  Miss  Sterling  is  gone,  for  good  and  all,"  she  repeated, 
calmly. 

But  even  as  she  spoke  her  eyes  wandered  toward  the 
distant  tracks  along  which  the  evening  train  was  speeding 
eastward,  the  train  from  which,  a  fortnight  thereafter, 
Steele  Harriman  waved  farewell  as  from  the  Ledge  tower 
window  she  watched  him  out  of  sight. 

And  over  those  same  far  tracks,  a  few  weeks  later, 
Steele  Harriman  and  Isolde  returned  together — man  and 
wife. 


CHAPTEE  XH. 

THE     HONEYMOON. 

Girlhood — wifehood — the  two  sweetest  phases  of  a 
woman's  life — the  first  yielding  up  its  pure  young  life 
for  the  second,  unmurmuringly,  lovingly,  as  the  young 
mother  yields  her  life  for  her  child.  And  the  priest  sings 
the  Te  Deum  for  the  new-born,  but  he  sobs  no  De  Pro- 
fundis  over  the  beautiful  ungraved  dead.  Only  here  and 
there  from  some  pale  woman's  lips  falls  a  prayer,  from 
her  eyes  a  tear. 

They  had  made  only  a  few  days'  tour,  as  Isolde,  dazed 
by  the  change  in  her  life,  looked  toward  her  new  home  as 
to  a  refuge  wherein  her  bewildered  soul  might  recover 
calm  and  peace.  Accepting  the  fact  of  love,  she  had 
ignored  its  correlative  fact  of  marriage  with  an  instinct 
as  innately  maidenly  as  it  was  unconscious.  When  her 
dream  of  truce  was  wakened  she  had  succumbed  perforce, 
but  not  without  a  fierce,  if  brief,  struggle  ;  and  she  was 
still  bewildered  by  the  unexpectedness  of  her  defeat.  Dr. 
Keene'd  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  She  had  not  married — 
she  had  been  married.  The  eagle  had  not  spared  the 
song-bird  thrust  in  shadow  of  its  wing. 

The  western  skies  had  donned  to  greet  her  all  the 
auspicious  splendor  of  an  autumn  sunset.  Old  John 
Harriman  and  Althea  were  at  the  station  to  welcome  her. 
Both  exclaimed  at  her  increased  beauty.  She  was  radiant, 
almost  dazzling  in  her  happiness.  The  charm  of  the  bud 


A  SOJV  OF  ESAU.  141 

had  not  departed,  but  it  was  crowned  with  the  glory  of  the 
perfect  flower. 

She  lived  through  that  first  evening  in  her  new  home, 
as  she  had  lived  through  all  the  hours  since  her  marriage, 
like  one  in  a  dream.  She  married  ?  She  a  wife  ?  She 
could  have  laughed,  or  wept,  at  the  unreality  of  it.  She 
had  never  looked  forward  to  marriage  ;  never  conceived 
its  possibility  in  association  with  herself.  Like  many  an- 
other unawakened  girl,  she  had  dreamed  that  she  was  not 
as  other  women,  that  love  and  marriage  were  not  among 
her  possibilities ;  and  now  that  her  pretty  sophistries 
were  shattered,  her  virgin  soul  stood  confused  and 
helpless,  like  a  knight  unarmored  and  disarmed.  As  the 
evening  ended,  and  husband  and  wife  were  left  alone 
together,  she  turned  to  Steele  with  startled,  appealing 
eyes. 

"Steele,"  she  cried,  "it  is  beginning,  the  new  strange 
life  !  All  at  once  I  realize  the  change,  and  the — the 
difference.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  go  back  with  Althea — as  if 
I — I  could  not  stay  without  her !  What  shall  I  do, 
Steele,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

He  folded  her  in  strong,  close,  tender  arms. 

"  The  change,  little  wife — is  it  an  unhappy  one  ?  "  he 
asked  her. 

"  O  no,  no,  no  !  not  unhappy  !  " 

"  Is  it  a  happy  one,  Isolde  ?  " 

"  Ye-es  !     Only— only " 

"  Only  what,  my  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  Only  I  am  afraid,  Steele,  afraid  !  " 

He  folded  her  more  closely,  bending  his  face  till  their 
lips  met. 

"Are  you  afraid  ?  "  he  asked,  softly. 

The  inflection  of  his  voice  carried  her  to  his  thought. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

A  radiance  born  of  more  than  the  shy  blood  mantling  her 
cheeks  was  on  her  face. 

"  Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear,"  she  whispered.  "  No, 
I  am  not  afraid,  O  my  love,  my  love  !  " 

For  a  month  after  their  marriage  their  life  was  an  idyl 
in  which  Steele  bore  his  part  feverishly,  ecstatically — 
Isolde  hers  with  quiet  but  ever  deepening  joy.  It  seemed 
to  her  iu  those  days  that  she  must  step  lightly  and  speak 
softly.  Love  was  a  sacrament,  and  her  soul  bowed 
reverently  before  it;  but  Steele  partook  of  it  boldly, 
rapturously,  as  the  high-priest  has  right.  She  was  his 
wife,  his  wife  !  but  with  a  thrill  of  excitement  he  realized 
that  he  was  still  the  wooer.  He  had  won  much,  but  there 
was  more,  infinitely  more,  to  win.  There  was  an  inviolate 
vestal  reserve  about  her,  even  in  her  tenderest  moments, 
which  whetted  him  deliciously.  The  instinct  of  the 
hunter  was  in  him ;  the  more  elusive  the  prey,  the  keener 
his  delight  in  the  chase. 

By  almost  imperceptible  degrees  they  returned  to  the 
plane  of  practical  life.  Isolde  relinquished  her  dreamful 
days  to  the  dutiful  return  of  her  bridal-calls.  Steele  de- 
voted his  leisure  hours  to  consultations  with  upholster- 
ers and  decorators,  whom  he  summoned  from  Chicago 
in  behalf  of  the  "  big  house,"  one  of  John  Harriman's 
princely  wedding-gifts  to  Isolde.  This  spacious  stone 
structure,  situated  upon  an  eminence  overlooking  the 
surrounding  town,  was  set  back  some  forty  rods  from  the 
road ;  the  intervening  green — threaded  at  one  side  by  the 
carriage-road,  in  the  centre  by  a  gravelled  foot-path  wind- 
ing from  the  gate  to  the  house-entrance — being  bordered 
with  full  grown  cottonwood  trees.  Originally  it  had 
been  erected  for  the  summer  palace  of  a  millionaire 
speculator,  whose  financial  ruin,  however,  compelled  its 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  143 

consignment  to  his  creditors,  just  as  the  house  was  com- 
pleted. John  Harriman  had  bought  it  at  auction,  not  at 
all  because  he  aspired  to  such  a  palatial  abode,  but  because 
he  believed  investment  in  Newfield  estate  to  be  the  civic 
duty  of  every  loyal  Newfi elder.  He  had  furnished  it  plainly 
but  comfortably,  and  for  his  sake  Isolde  had  protested 
against  any  alteration  in  her  honor ;  but  Steele  was  good- 
naturedly  inexorable.  The  simple  garnitures  had  had 
their  day,  the  reign  of  garish  splendor  must  begin.  The 
metamorphosed  interior  soon  shone  with  omnipresent 
gilding  and  shimmered  with  plate-glass.  Warm-hued 
Oriental  rugs  glowed  on  the  inlaid  floors ;  frescoed  ceilings 
and  tapestry-hung  walls  dazzled  one  with  their  brilliance. 
The  appointments  throughout  betrayed  lavish  expenditure 
and  ostentatious  taste. 

"  I've  caught  the  bird,"  he  said,  one  day,  jocosely,  as 
Isolde  expostulated  against  further  outlay,  "  and,  by 
heaven,  I'll  make  the  cage  worthy  of  her." 

He  emphasized  the  words  by  drawing  her  to  him, 
in  a  fond  if  masterful  manner,  and  at  the  time  she  had 
smiled  at  them.  But  later,  she  shuddered  as  they  recurred 
to  her.  More  than  once,  as  her  married  days  went  on, 
she  felt  that  the  gilded  bars  indeed  were  closing  about 
her. 

Old  John  Harriman  accepted  the  transformation  with 
unselfish  delight.  In  the  rooms  set  apart  for  his  habita- 
tion, rooms  endeared  to  him  by  fond  associations,  he  had 
collected  the  familiar  ornaments  banished  from  the  rest 
of  the  house  ;  and  with  these  about  him,  he  spent  many 
a  happy  retrospective  hour.  But  perhaps  he  was  still 
happier  when,  with  the  scent  of  Steele's  cigar  floating  to 
him  from  lawn  or  library,  he  sat  in  a  shadowy  corner  of 
the  brilliant  drawing-room,  while  Isolde  played  and  sung 


14:4:  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

such  simple  old  melodies  as  lie  loved.  When  the  hour  of 
music  was  ended,  he  pressed  a  long  kiss  on  her  brow, 
Avith  a  "  Thankee,  my  dearie.  Now  go  and  spark  a  spell 
wi'  Steele."  Stealing  off  by  himself  then,  with  misty  eyes 
and  tremulous  tender  smile,  to  thoughts  of  youth  and 
"  mother." 

To  the  simple  old  man  with  his  reverence  for  all 
women,  Isolde,  with  her  soft  voice  and  gentle  ways, 
seemed  indeed  little  short  of  an  angel.  But  Steele,  since 
the  night  when  in  the  shadow  of  the  moonlit  pines,  with 
the  waltz-tune  floating  to  him  through  the  open  door  of 
Jenkins'  barn,  he  had  spoken  the  words  which  had  won 
him  his  wife,  and  lost  him  eternally,  irrevocably,  all  that 
could  have  made  him  worthy  of  her,  had  resolutely  shut 
his  eyes  to  the  angel  in  her,  and  fixed  them  with  pas- 
sionate concentration  upon  the  human  woman.  Her  he 
loved  almost  fiercely,  working  himself  into  a  feverish  pas- 
sion which  for  the  hour  absorbed  him,  flesh  and  spirit. 
The  change  was  subtle,  but  Isolde,  with  insight  born  of 
love,  divined  it.  Mute-lipped,  she  looked  at  him  with 
wistful,  questioning  eyes.  What  was  the  struggle  his 
strong  man-soul  was  waging  ? 

She  dared  not  ask  him  in  words,  but  her  sympathetic 
arms  stole  shyly,  tenderly  about  him. 

"I  want  to  be  a  good  wife  to  you,  Steele,"  she  whis- 
pered, wistfully. 

"  Kiss  me,"  he  responded,  passionately. 

And  she  smiled  and  flushed,  and  did  his  tender  bid- 
ding. 

Was  it  not  Love's  ? 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

THE   HONEYMOON    WAKES. 

But  erelong  the  srnile  died  and  the  flush  deepened. 
Like  other  girls,  and  poets,  she  had  dreamed  of  love  in 
an  abstract,  impersonal  fashion,  but  the  reality  was  not 
what  the  dream  had  promised.  She  had  dreamed  of  the 
strong  sweet  soul  of  love,  of  its  pure  true  heart,  of  its 
ideal,  immaterial  aspect ;  but  it  was  not  the  ideal  love, 
but  the  real  love  that  now  confronted  her,  and  its  aspect 
was  human,  only  human  ;  and  what,  if  not  love,  in  all 
Christ's  love-redeemed  world,  is  divine  ?  The  loving  but 
virginal  soul  would  not  be  bound,  since  love's  bonds  were 
of  flesh.  Its  pure  white  pinions  beat  against  their  fetters, 
like  birds'  against  the  net. 

Looking  back  upon  her  life  as  a  girl,  she  could  scarcely 
realize  that  she  was  the  same  Isolde  who  had  lived  so  un- 
eventfully from  day  to  day,  dreaming  over  her  manu- 
scripts, thinking  her  pure  young  thoughts,  praying  her 
girlish  prayers,  with  no  thought  that  the  life  now  hers 
could  ever  reach  her.  When,  at  odd  times,  one  suscept- 
ible youth  or  another  had  been  fain  to  linger  before  her  ves- 
tal shrine,  she  had  retreated  to  her  inner  temple  like  Diana 
into  the  forest,  and  the  real  significance  of  the  episodes 
had  never  touched  her  at  all.  In  taking  her  by  storm, 
Steele  had  adopted  instinctively  the  only  means  by  which 
she  could  have  been  taken.  She  was  a  vestal  by  nature  ; 
and  after  three  months  of  married  life  the  oil  of  her  vir- 


146  A   SON  OF  ESAU. 

gin  lamp  had  not  yet  run  out.  She  could  not  become 
reconciled  to  the  fading  of  the  flame,  and  kept  herself  in 
a  perpetual  fever  in  her  efforts  to  preserve  it.  Had  she 
resigned  herself  to  extinguish  it  forever,  to  immolate  the 
girl  and  the  girl's  creeds  upon  the  altar  of  wifehood,  she 
must  have  accepted  life's  new  phase  naturally,  after  the 
manner  of  her  sister-women  ;  but  such  renunciation  she 
found  impossible.  Day  after  day,  spiritually  as  well  as 
materially,  she  strove  to  re-enter  upon  the  routine  of  her 
girlhood  ;  but,  grasp  its  material  features  as  she  would, 
the  divine  essence  that  had  been  its  life  and  sweetness 
escaped  her.  Even  her  writing  suffered.  After  the  first 
month  of  marriage  she  had  endeavored  to  devote  at  least 
a  few  hours  daily  to  her  art,  but  she  progressed  so  slowly 
that  she  was  tempted  to  yield  the  effort  in  despair.  Her 
inspiration,  according  to  her  intolerant  judgment,  was 
dead.  She  was  like  a  bird  that,  straining  to  soar,  finds 
its  pinions  fettered  to  the  earth.  One  day  she  poured 
out  her  heart  in  this  impromptu  bit  of  verse,  and  then 
sinking  her  head  upon  her  manuscript,  broke  into  bitter 
sobbing : 

Life  was  once  an  April  day, 
Youth  its  sun  of  golden  ray  : 
Gentle  as  a  maiden's  years 
In  its  smiles  and  in  its  tears. 
O'er  it  hung  in  glints  and  gleams, 
Golden-gray,  a  haze  of  dreams — 
Hush'd  and  holy,  as  on  wing 
Pure  young  angels,  hovering. 
Innocence  that  knew  not  sin, 
Like  a  lily  bloomed  therein  ; 
Calm  as  dove  o'er  twilight  vale, 
Peace  abode  on  pinions  pale. 
Streamlets  twain  of  mingled  tide, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Faith  and  Hope,  purled  side  by  side  ; 
Thoughts,  like  reeds  their  brink  along, 
Echoing  their  spring-time  song. 
Tender  creeds  of  tenets  true, 
Up  their  shores  as  roses  grew, 
Sowing  wide,  like  summer  seed, 
High  resolve  and  gentle  deed. 
White  and  warm  as  vestal  fires 
Glowed  its  passionless  desires ; 
Artless  Joy  like  music  blent 
With  the  hush  of  sweet  Content; 
Pure  as  incense  on  the  air 
Rose  to  heav'n  its  virgin  prayer — 
O  my  heart !  to  hold  for  aye 
Life  that  was  an  April  day  ! 

Love,  the  summer  solstice,  came  ! 
Love,  the  ruddy  ;  Love,  the  flame  ! 
Where  calm  was,  and  heavens  fair, 
Simooms  pant,  and  fierce  suns  glare, 
Youth's  fair  morning,  ripe  o'ersoon, 
Forthwith  flames  to  fervid  noon  ; 
Olden  dreams  are  woo'd  in  vain, 
Bliss  is  drained  to  lees  of  pain  ; 
Thoughts  are  warring  ;  wild  unrest, 
Peace  displacing,  racks  the  breast. 
Prayer,  white-pinioned,  loses  worth, 
Sullied  plumes  a-trail  on  earth. 

True  Love's  cost — what  may  it  be, 
Loss  or  gain  ? 

O,  answer  ye, 

Life  erst  human,  now  divine, 
Cup  of  Love's  transmuting  wine  ? 
Soul  Love-winged,  that  Godward  leaps, 
Heart  a  surge  with  Love-loosed  deeps  ; 
Mind  illumed  by  Love's  white  flame, 
Past  unfaith.  past  fear,  past  shame  ; 
Flesh  refined  by  purgers  twain, 


148  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Love  the  bliss  and  Love  the  pain  ! 
Dreams  new-born  in  dead  dreams'  place, 
Higher,  purer,  by  Love's  grace  ; 
Meanings  deep  that  light  things  take, 
Least  one's  greatest  for  Love's  sake  ; 
Eyes  unsealed,  that  newly  see 
How  divine  humanity ! 

Loss  or  gain  ?     Not  thus  we  prove 
Heaven-born,  incarnate  Love  ! 
Love  that  claims  as  primal  cost, 
Blind  surrender,  uttermost, 
Scales  for  low  things.     Love  is  high, 
Measureless  infinity  1 

Sweeter,  then,  dare  heart  avow 

Loveless  Once  than  sweet  Love's  Now  ? 

Loveless  Was,  than  Sweet  Love's  Is, 

Mourning  apotheosis  ? 

Love,  forgive  me — thine  no  less, 

Nay,  thine  more,  for  waywardness  ! 

Sun  the  shadows  leaves  behind, 

Love,  its  fears !     Meanwhile  be  kind, 

Tender  still,  O  Love  !  to  me, 

Doubting  not  my  fealty, 

Tho'  my  soul,  in  soar  and  slip, 

Force  the  fetter  of  mute  lip, 

Sobbing  like  a  child  astray 

On  some  fair  but  unknown  way, 

"  Love,  sweet  Love,  give  back,  I  pray, 

Life  that  was  an  April  day  !  " 

Old  John  Harriman,  coming  suddenly  upon  her  and 
surprising  her  in  her  tears,  divined  the  struggle  her  pure 
young  soul  was  undergoing.  To  her  he  said  only  a  few 
caressing  words,  but  with  Steele  that  night  he  had  a  long 
talk  as  they  smoked  together. 

"  I've  hed  my  'xsperience  wi'  wimmen-folks,"  he  said, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  149 

"  an'  uaterally,  I  know  better'r  how  ter  take  'em.  Mother, 
now,  sleepin'  wi'  God  this  twenty  year,  mother  was  high- 
strung  an'  sperrited-like,  jest  like  'Soldy  ;  an'  that  sort 
takes  love  hard.  But  its  only  a  matter  o'  time,  my  boy, 
only  a  matter  o'  time.  Jest  ye  use  a  little  polycy — turn 
tail  as  a  man,  an'  sorter  edge  roun'  like  a  woman — kiss  her 
hair  inste'd  o'  her  mouth,  an'  let  her  cry  her  cry  out,  jest 
sayin'  tender  an'  woman-like,  '  Poor  little  'Soldy  !  Poor 
little  dear  girl  'Soldy  ! '  an'  in  less  'n  a  week  she'll  begin 
ter  smile  up  shy-like,  an'  sorter  make  out  ter  hersel'  as 
ye're  her  own  born'd  mother  !  Ye'll  see  her  peek  up  thro' 
her  tears  sweet  an'  bright  as  a  rose-bud  arter  a  shower. 
Wimmen-folks  is  cur'us  critters.  Thar  ain't  no  answerin' 
fur  their  ways,  nor  a-follerin'  o'  their  thinkin's ;  an'  they 
ain't  all  made  arter  th'  same  pattern,  nor  out  o'  th'  same 
ware,  mind  ye  that !  Some  on  'em  's  like  common  crock'ry 
ware — rough-usin'  don't  hurt  'em.  Some  on  'em  's  like 
that  thar  chiny  vase — a  breath  '11  break  'em.  Now  'Soldy, 
she's  chiny — chiny  all  over.  Be  tender  wi'  her.  Win  her 
young  heart  ter  ye,  little  by  little.  Th'  weddin'  ain't  th' 
fun'ral  o'  th'  courtiu' — it's  th'  christ'nin'  o'  it,  my  boy,  th' 
christ'nin' !  " 

The  young  man  had  listened  without  a  word.  As  his 
father  finished,  he  flung  away  his  cigar,  and  with  an  abrupt 
"good-night,"  went  upstairs.  Isolde  was  at  her  prayers. 
He  paced  restlessly  up  and  down  as  he  waited.  When 
she  rose  there  were  traces  of  tears  on  her  face. 

"My  father,"  he  said,  curtly,  "has  been  favoring  me 
with  a  lecture — a  lecture  upon  my  treatment  of  you.  I 
must  deserve  it  if  I  have  caused  those  tears.  In  what 
have  I  been  wanting  ?  " 

His  tone  was  more  defiant  than  tender.  It  roused  her 
spirit. 


150  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"You  have  been  wanting  in  nothing,"  she  answered. 
"Were  it  otherwise,  be  assured  that  I  should  not  permit 
your  father  to  '  lecture  '  you — in  my  behalf." 

The  pride  of  her  attitude  pleased  him.  He  liked  the 
sight  of  a  high  spirit  subject  to  him. 

"Brava  for  the  proud  little  woman!"  he  laughed  ;  "I 
admire  your  mettle,  Isolde." 

The  good-natured  answer,  rough  as  it  was,  touched  her. 

"  Steele,"  she  said,  "I  should  not  have  spoken  to  you 
in  that  manner.  Forgive  me." 

She  drew  him  into  a  chair,  and  kneeling  beside  it, 
rubbed  her  cheek  childishly  along  his  knee. 

"  You  have  been  very  tender,  very  generous  with  me," 
she  said,  "and  you  will  be  generous  still,  Steele,  and 
patient,  just  a  little  longer?  Other  women  seem  to  take 
the  change  naturally,  but  to  me  it  is  all  new  and  strange 
and  terrible.  At  first  I  was  dazed — I  did  not  realize  it ; 
but  day  after  day  the  awful  seriousness  of  the  surrender, 
its  responsibility,  its  irrevocableness,  grows  upon  me.  It 
awes  me,  Steele,  it  terrifies  me !  I  want  to  realize  it,  I 
want  to  di-aw  breath,  and  there  is  no  time — no  space — no 
freedom " 

She  wrung  her  hands  nervously.  A  sudden  sob 
strangled  her. 

"  I  was  never  a  girl  who  looked  forward  to  marriage," 
she  cried,  "  and  the  woman's  life,  the  wife's  life,  frightens 
me.  Marriage  is  an  open  sea,  and  I — I  am  not  a  brave 
sailor.  I  want  to  go  back  to  shore,  Steele,  I  want  to  go 
back  to  shore  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  helplessly. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  are  unhappy  with  me — 
unhappy  !  " 

She  shook  her  head  in  mute  negation,  but  he  did  not 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  151 

heed  her.  In  his  heart  he  felt  a  keen,  shamed  sting  of  bit- 
ter self-reproach.  She  had  called  him  generous  with  her, 
but  full  well  he  knew  that  he  had  not  been  generous.  He 
was  not  the  man  to  have  been  that.  There  was  an  elusive- 
ness  about  her  which  he  had  felt  and  resented.  He  had 
been  pitiless  in  the  suspicion  that  her  surrender  was  even 
yet  with  a  reserve.  Many  and  many  a  time  he  had  felt 
her  fluttering  like  a  bird  in  the  net,  and  he  had  only 
gathered  the  meshes  tighter.  But  to-night,  realizing  how 
helpless,  how  frail,  how  completely  in  his  power  she  had 
been  and  was  still,  he  felt  a  sudden  tender  pity  for  her. 

"  Marriage  is  an  open  sea,  and  I  am  not  a  brave  sailor.  I 
want  to  go  back  to  shore,  Steele,  I  want  to  go  back  to  shore!  " 

It  was  so  pathetic,  that  startled  cry  of  the  vestal  soul — 
so  pathetic,  because  so  vain. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  miserably.  "  You  can- 
not go  back.  I  need  not  tell  you  that.  You  must  make 
the  vogage  as  other  women  make  it.  But  you  are  not 
as  other  women.  You  do  not  know  what  love  is.  I  read 
a  woman's  verse  to-day,  and  thought  of  you.  I  would  give 
— what  would  I  not  give — to  have  you  write  me  such  an 
one  ! " 

He  took  the  verse  from  his  pocket,  gazing  eagerly  at  her 
as  she  read  it. 


Dear  love  of  mine,  if  I  should  die  to-night, 
Close  eyes  on  all  the  fair  of  earth — your  face  ; 
Close  lips  on  all  the  sweets  of  earth — your  kiss  ; 
Close  ears  to  all  the  song  of  earth — your  voice, — 
Think  you  my  soul  would  seek  the  Infinite, 
Swift-winged  as  lark  on  singing  skyward  flight, 
Or  linger  still  for  this  one  sweet,  last  grace — 
To  feel  again  upon  my  lips  your  kiss, 
To  hear  again  the  music  of  your  voice  ? 


152  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

If  I  should  die,  if  I  should  die  to-night, 

Within  my  soul  this  doubt,  Love's  human  sin, 

Or  wide,  or  shut,  the  gates  of  jasper,  pearl, 

And  golden  courtway  of  the  Great  White  Throne  ? 

"Thou  blessed,  in,"  would  God  the  Son  invite, 

Or  thunder,  "  Back,  to  Life,  and  Love's  sure  blight !  '* 

And  O,  (sweet  Christ,  forgive  !)  my  soul  within, 

Bewail'd  or  bless'd  the  curse,  tho'  He  shouldst  hurl, — 

Sent  it  me  back  to  thee,  my  love,  my  own  ? 

"The  woman  who  wrote  that,loves,"  he  said.  "I  wish 
to  God  I  could  say  as  much  of  you.  You  chill  me,  starve 
me.  I  am  hungry,  Isolde,  hungry,  and  your  bread  is  a 
stone  ! " 

"  No !  no  !  "  she  cried,  like  a  creature  in  mortal  pain. 
"  You  misconceive — you  wrong  me " 

She  struggled  to  her  feet.  From  her  eyes,  in  their 
mute  pleading,  looked  at  him  resisting,  yet  entreatingly, 
her  hunted  soul,  at  bay  ! 

"  It  is  a  true,  sweet  thought,"  she  said,  "  that  death 
cannot  lessen  love,  but  a  narrow,  unworthy,  ignoble 
thought,  unless  it  adds  that  death  too,  purifies  it.  Not 
to  sink  together,  but  to  rise  together,  is  the  prayer  of  love 
immortal.  O,  my  husband,  do  not  doubt  my  love  !  I 
love  you.  I  am  no  longer  my  own — no  longer  myself. 
I  am  yours — I  am  you,  Steele,  you — not  only  for  this  little 
life,  not  alone  in  this  poor  perishable  flesh,  but  for  eter- 
nity, in  God  ;  because  our  love  is  a  sacrament,  a  union  of 
souls  of  which  this  mortal  union  is  only  the  faint  brief 
symbol !  Think  of  me,  think  of  our  love,  in  this  higher 
light !  Live  for  love,  yes — but  for  the  real  immortal  love, 
not  for  its  poor,  pale,  sullied,  human  phantom.  Sooner 
or  later  one  of  us  two  must  be  taken  and  one  left. 
Should  death  choose  me  and  the  grave  claim  me,  }'ou 
would  not  love  these  lips  you  kiss  so  now  ;  you  would 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  153 

not  fold  these  arms  around  you  ;  you  would  not  hold  this 
little  body  to  your  heart.  You  would  shrink  and  shud- 
der, should  one  small  finger  touch  you.  Is  this  your  love, 
to  end  to-day,  to-morrow  ?  Do  you  love  me  so  little  that 
you  can  give  me  up  with  life  ?  Is  your  love  so  degraded, 
so  unworthy,  that  it  prompts  your  soul  not  up,  but  down  ? 
And  my  soul,  Steele,  made  one  with  your  soul — must  it 
sink  down  with  you  ?  Shall  ioy  eyes  never  Lift  above  your 
human  face  ?  It  is  a  terrible  thing  for  her  and  him,  when 
a  man  stands  between  a  woman  and  her  God.  If  she 
loses  Him,  who  shall  find  Him  for  her — and  without  Him, 
where  shall  she  find  the  twofold  strength  that  the  woman 
should  have  in  soul,  as  the  man  has  in  body  ?  We  women 
stand  like  Mary  at  the  Cross,  the  Link  between  Christ  and 
John.  And  heart  to  heart,  each  knowing  each  as  His  best 
gift,  both  must  look — up." 

Her  eyes,  in  tearful  supplication,  were  fixed  upon  his 
face.  For  one  remoi'seful  moment  he  hesitated.  Then 
his  passionate  lips,  Like  searing  flames,  fell  on  them,  kiss- 
ing them  shut  and  blind. 

Her  appeal — was  it  in  vain  ? 

Ask  any  man  the  question.    Ask  any  woman  the  answer. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    HONEYMOON    FLICKERS    OUT. 

Christmas,  the  sweetest  time  of  all  the  year — when  the 
Bethlehem  Star  shines  not  only  for  the  Judean  shepherds, 
but  for  the  wide,  wide  world  as  well,  and  prince  and  peas- 
ant bend  knee  together  beside  the  omnipresent  Crib  ; 
when  the  angel-choirs  sing  unto  all  hearts  hearing  their 
heavenly  message  of  peace  and  good-will  to  men  ;  and  the 
Holy  Child,  from  the  breast  of  His  Virgin  Mother,  holds 
eager  hands  to  all  who  linger  near — Christmas  had  come 
and  gone,  and  with  the  dawn  of  the  New  Year,  a  new  era 
for  the  bank  began.  It  was  enlarged  and  adorned  to  the 
superlative  degree  of, splendor,  and  its  glittering  exterior 
was  but  the  sign  and  symbol  of  the  prosperity  within. 
As  the  honeymoon  waned,  Steele  became  more  and  more 
absorbed  in  his  financial  ventures.  These  were  not  con- 
fined to  the  legitimate  field  of  the  bank,  but  extended  to 
the  quicksands  of  private  speculation  ;  and  a  set  of  rest- 
less, eager-eyed  men  soon  gathered  about  him,  whose 
voices,  floating  to  the  drawing-room  from  the  adjoining 
library,  sounded  ever  the  same  refrain  of  "  stock "  and 
"  share  "  and  "  bond." 

Isolde  sighed  as  the  voices  reached  her.  These  nightly 
conclaves  from  which  she  found  herself  debarred  in  effect, 
if  not  in  fact,  weighed  upon  her  sensitive  conscience.  Was 
a  wife's  sphere 'circumscribed  even  within  its  circumscrip- 
tions, she  wondered?  Would  not  a  wiser  and  worthier 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  155 

•woman  associate  herself  with  all  the  interests  of  her  hus- 
band's life?  She  studied  the  financial  columns  in  the 
newspapers  and  aired  her  newly  acquired  knowledge,  only 
to  be  laughed  at  for  her  pains. 

"There  are  'numbers  and  numbers,'  little  woman!" 
Steele  said  to  her.  "  If  you  invade  my  realm,  I  must  in- 
vade yours  ;  and  then  for  poetry  '  as  is '  poetry  !  " 

"Now,  Steele!  " 

"  Now,  Isolde  !  " 

"  But  I  want  to— to " 

"  But  you  '  Avant  to  be  a  good  wife  ; '  is  that  it,  as 
usual  ?  Yes,  I  thought  so !  Well,  lips  a  little  closer,  arms 
a  little  tighter — now  you  are  the  best  little  wife  in  all  the 
world !  " 

It  was  impossible,  considering  her  nature,  her  youth, 
her  inexperience,  and  her  perfect  love,  undoubting  and 
adoring  as  first  love  ever  is,  that  this  philosophy,  repeated 
day  by  day,  should  not  set  its  brand  upon  her  susceptible 
and  sensitive  heart  and  soul.  At  first,  imperceptibly,  but 
later  in  visible  transfiguration,  the  fire  of  his  passion 
ignited  her  heart's  white  flame. 

The  change  was  betrayed  less  in  her  life  than  in  her 
writing.  Art  is  a  mirror  in  which  are  reflected  all  the 
phases  of  the  artist's  life.  The  inspiration  she  had 
mourned  as  dead  was  revivified.  She  wrote,  now,  with  a 
firmer  hand  and  a  fuller  heart  than  had  been  possible  for 
her  before  young  life's  pale  bud  had  bloomed  to  love's  red 
flower.  Her  earlier  work  had  been  vestal  in  its  chastity. 
Now  her  awakened  heart  tuned  her  song  in  a  more  pas- 
sionate key.  She  had  reached  the  organ-stop  of  life — 
the  vox  humana.  Her  work  was  still  chaste,  but  with  a 
warm,  sweet  chastity,  human  to  its  core.  And  it  was  the 
human  note  that  won  her  success.  Not  art,  but  heart, 


15G  A   SON  OF  ESAU. 

makes  the  work  immortal  Art  is  the  beautiful  body,  but 
unless  the  artist's  heart  throb  within  it,  a  body  without  a 
soul. 

Hence  the  artist,  instinctively  as  unconsciously,  plays 
upon  his  heart  as  a  minstrel  on  his  lyre  ;  holding  its  white 
strings  up  to  use,  threading  his  song  with  every  quivering 
fibre.  Identified  with  her  art — the  art  which  had  been 
all  her  life  before  love  had  dethroned  it — Isolde's  love  grew, 
sending  out  new  shoots  apace,  new  leaves  and  buds  and 
flowers.  Her  vestal  heart,  that  had  been  so  shy  of  the  seed 
of  love,  now  fostered  its  bud  till  love's  rank  bloom  over- 
grew it.  It  rioted  over  all  her  life  and  gave  new  color  to 
it.  It  grafted  itself  on  her  life's  stock.  She  began  to  live 
in  a  feverish  love-dream.  The  sun  shone  love,  the  winds 
sighed  love,  the  birds  sang  love.  Her  husband  no  longer 
complained  of  her  coldness.  The  pale  young  spark  at  last 
had  flamed  to  fire.  Love,  love,  love  was  her  dream,  her 
thought,  her  prayer  ! 

The  honeymoon,  that  had  waxed  and  waned,  suddenly 
redawned.  Lured  by  the  domestic  hearth's  new  warmth 
and  radiance,  Steele  re-devoted  himself  to  it  with  all  a 
lover's  assiduity.  One  January  afternoon  he  left  the  bank 
at  an  earlier  hour  then  usual,  and  surprised  Isolde  in  her 
study. 

"Think  of  an  angel,"  she  said,  gayly.  "I  was  just 
writing  a  poem  to  you,  such  a  poem  as  you  once  asked  for. 
But,  O,  Steele,  it  is  so  poor,  so  weak,  so  failing  !  It  is  not 
even  the  echo  of  the  poem  within  my  heart." 

He  read  it  with  his  arms  around  her. 

My  life  is  in  thy  hand.  O  love  !     My  past, 

My  present,  future,  nest  upon  thy  palm  ; 

Fold  wings  and  bird-like,  pipe  their  simple  psalm, 

Love  consecrate  to  thee,  first  note  and  last. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  157 

Thine  own  to  spurn  ;  thine  own  to  hold  love-fast ; 
Thine  own  to  doom  to  storm  or  gentle  calm  ; 
To  hold  Pain's  gall,  or  love's  sweet  draught  of  balm, 
Or  keep  a  thirst,  as  thine  heart's  edict  hast. 
Surrender  sweet ;  fraught  with  this  single  pain, 
That  soul,  heart,  voice,  do  night  and  day  bemoan — 
(Yet,  O  my  love,  though  fall  my  tears  like  rain, 
Though  wails  my  sob  as  wind  from  zone  to  zone, 
Both  sob  and  tear  alike  in  vain,  in  vain — ) 
That  but  one  life  is  mine  to  make  thine  own  ! 

He  kissed  it,  and  then  her,  tenderly. 

"My  darling,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  doubt  your  love. 
You  do  love  me,  in  your  way,  and  your  way  is  highest." 

An  hour  later  they  were  cantering  side  by  side  along 
the  Settlement  road. 

Across  the  blue  expanse  of  sunlit  heaven  flitted,  like 
white-winged  angels,  a  train  of  clouds.  The  air,  warmed 
by  the  afternoon  sunshine,  blew  with  a  fresh  crisp  sweet- 
ness from  its  mountain  caves.  The  frosty  boughs  of  the 
cottonwoods  tinkled  as  they  blew  against  one  another. 
The  horses'  hoofs  struck  resonantly  on  the  frozen  ground. 
Here  and  there  bits  of  ice  snapped  up  in  iridescent  par- 
ticles. Where  the  highway  merged  itself  in  a  road  lead- 
ing through  pine-woods  to  the  Settlement,  a  sunbeam 
slanting  from  the  tree-tops  turned  the  dusk-brown  vista 
into  gold.  It  hovered  round  their  heads  and  lingered 
on  their  glowing  faces.  Across  its  radiance  their  happy 
eyes  met.  With  a  mutual  impulse  they  leaned  toward 
each  other.  The  wind  was  sibilant  with  their  kiss. 

Their  mood  held  the  twofold  sweetness  of  past  and 
present.  Steele  thrilled  anew  with  the  sweetly  torturous 
fire  of  love's  primal  flame.  Isolde  experienced  again  the 
heart-throb  born  of  fear  and  faith,  of  dread  and  hope, 
of  pain  and  bliss,  which  had  been  love's  pang  of  birth. 


3^8  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

With  absolute  abandon  she  yielded  herself  to  her  joy. 
The  glow  of  the  sunlight  was  within  her,  the  wild,  free 
spirit  of  the  wind.  The  liquid  laughter  of  a  newly-thawed 
creek  floated  to  them,  and  her  laughter  rippled  with 
it,  like  a  chord  akin.  Her  voice  supplied  the  music  of 
the  absent  birds'  song.  She  was  youth,  she  was  beauty, 
she  was  love  and  joy  incarnate — the  embodied  spirit  of 
the  vivid,  alluring,  riotous  day. 

They  rode  on  faster  and  faster.  The  wind  swirled  past 
them,  tossing  the  boughs  like  bare  brown  arms  above 
their  heads.  Icy  twigs,  crisp  dead  leaves,  detached  bits 
of  frosty  earth,  snapped  up  around  them,  displaced  by 
the  gallant  hoofs  that  sped  like  wings.  In  the  exhilara- 
tion of  the  hour,  new  life  surged  through  Isolde's  veins. 
Without  fatigue  or  effort  she  galloped  on  and  on,  till  the 
labored  breaths  of  the  panting  horses  pleaded  for  a  halt. 

"On!  on!"  cried  Steele,  to  the  flying  figure  before 
him.  "Your  mad  mood  is  irresistible,  Isolde.  I  follow 
your  wild  lead  to  the  death." 

She  reined  in  her  horse.  He  overtook  her.  His  shoulder 
pressed  heavily  against  her.  His  breath  was  on  her  cheek. 

"  Siren  !     Sorceress !  "  he  cried. 

The  brightness  of  her  dancing  eyes,  as  they  turned 
upon  him,  softened  into  a  sweeter  light. 

"  Love !  "  he  finished.     "  O  my  love,  my  love  ! " 

A  three  minutes'  canter  brought  them  to  the  Settlement, 
its  low  pine-roofs  outlined  sombrely  against  the  snow-clad 
mountain-range. 

"A  harnsum'  couple,"  commented  an  admiring  settler, 
watching  them  from  his  doorway,  as  they  cantered  by. 

"A  happy  couple,"  amended  his  companion,  and  fol- 
lowed them  with  wistful  woman-eyes. 

They  rode  through  the  Settlement  and  beyond  it  to  the 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  159 

foot-hills,  then  turned  about  and  retraced  their  way  at 
an  easy  pace.  In  the  heart  of  the  Settlement  Steele 
halted,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  carelessl}',  "I  may  as  well  com- 
bine pleasure  with  business.  A  Denver  chap,  Kingsley, 
by  name,  was  talking  to  me  to-day  about  the  old  Ked 
Ridge  Mine,  in  which  most  of  the  settlers  got  badly  bitten 
a  few  years  since.  I  promised  him  I'd  have  a  word  with  a 
few  of  them.  If  Midge  will  not  stand,  walk  her  up  and 
down  till  I  return." 

Before  she  could  object  he  had  hitched  Ladybird,  and 
disappeared  in  the  "Shanty,"  a  structure  half-tent,  half- 
shed,  which,  as  it  included  both  bar-  and  card-room,  was 
naturally  the  masculine  headquarters  of  the  place.  For 
more  than  an  hour  Isolde  paced  up  and  down  the  long 
road,  while  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  faded  into 
shadow,  the  shadow  deepened  to  dusk.  The  wind  grew 
chill.  She  shivered  in  it — not  that  she  was  cold  in  body, 
but  its  chill  seemed  to  strike  through  the  flesh  to  her  in- 
most heart.  She  felt  as  if  the  sun  of  her  happiness  was 
setting  in  a  dusk  which  no  coming  dawn  would  brighten 
— as  if  the  day  of  her  life  was  over,  and  its  night  begun. 
The  reaction  from  her  rapturous  mood  was  only  natural, 
but  to  her  it  seemed  prophetic. 

"I  was  too  happy,  too  happy,"  she  cried  to  the  darken- 
ing skies. 

And  the  night  crept  on. 

When  Steele  reappeared  at  last,  he  was  flushed  and 
noisy,  and  exchanged  rude  jests  with  the  rough  men 
who  followed  him  to  the  door.  As  he  joined  her,  Isolde 
turned  away  her  face  with  a  disgusted  exclamation. 

"You  have  been  drinking,"  she  said  ;  "drinking  their 
horrible  whiskey.  O  Steele,  how  could  you  ?  " 


160  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Had  to,  to  seal  the  bargain,"  be  admitted,  unguard- 
edly ;  then  bit  his  lip  in  annoyed  regret.  He  would  have 
given  all  the  whiskey  in  Colorado  at  that  moment  to  have 
retracted  the  incautious  admission. 

"  What  bargain  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Surely  you  have  not 
been  buying  that  hopeless  old  mine  ?  " 

"  Buying  up  the  Red  Ridge  ?  "  he  laughed.  "  It  is  not 
worth  a  copper  cent.  That  is  what  I  have  been  ascertain- 
ing for  Kingsley  ;  and  the  price  I  paid  for  the  knowledge 
vas  a  treat  all  round — of  bad  whiskey.  Don't  be  alarmed, 
little  wife,  I  can  stand  it.  And,  by  the  way,  I  have  some 
good  old  brandy  in  my  flask  here.  Better  take  a  sip.  You 
must  be  chilled  and  tired." 

"I  am  wearing  my  heavy  habit,  and  am  not  cold,"  she 
said,  rejecting  it ;  "and  you  know  quite  well,  Steele,  that 
I  disapprove  your  flask.  It  is  full  of  a  bad  habit.  Why 
do  you  carry  it  ?  " 

"Because  I  am  a  man,  little  woman,"  he  laughed ;  "  or, 
rather,  because  I  am  not  a  woman  ;  which  is,  I  suppose,  at 
once  the  cause  of,  and  an  excuse  for,  all  my  masculine 
peccadilloes ! " 

To  Isolde's  surprise,  Kingsley  was  waiting  in  the  draw- 
ing-room when  they  reached  home.  He  was  a  tall,  slight, 
refined-looking  man,  bearing  the  unmistakable  stamp  of 
the  great  world.  His  pale,  delicate  face,  lighted  by  mel- 
ancholy dark-brown  eyes,  was  crowned  by  a  noble  head  of 
prematurely  gray  hair.  He  had  a  reserved,  indifferent  air 
about  him  which  impressed  Isolde  favorably.  It  was  a 
welcome  contrast  to  the  free-and-easy  familiarity  of  the 
greater  number  of  her  husband's  business  associates. 
He  dined  with  them,  talking  languidly  and  sometimes 
cynically  upon  many  subjects.  After  dinner  he  disap- 
peared with  his  host  in  his  library,  where  they  were  clos- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  161 

eted  together  until  long  after  midnight.  In  the  mean- 
time Isolde  was  sobbing  nervously  in  her  room  up-stairs. 
She  felt  suddenly  ill,  despondent,  startled — she  knew  not 
what.  She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  then  un- 
clasped her  hands  and  wrung  them  in  nervous  anguish. 
She  went  down  for  Steele,  but  turned  back  from  the 
library  door  without  speaking  to  him.  When  he  came 
up  at  midnight,  however,  she  was  sleeping  peacefully, 
with  the  smile  of  a  tender  dream  on  her  fair  young  face. 

Two  months  later  there  was  a  sudden  excitement  in  the 
Settlement.  The  Bed  Kiclge  Mine,  which  had  been  dead 
stock  for  some  years,  had  leaped  to  the  front.  There  was 
a  rush  for  shares,  and  no  shares  were  forthcoming.  Un- 
known speculators  had  bought  them  up  for  a  song,  and 
the  mine,  properly  worked,  was  proving  a  bonanza.  The 
rumor  did  not  reach  Isolde  for  some  time.  When  it 
did  reach  her,  it  fell  upon  unheeding  ears.  She  was  still 
absorbed  in  the  tender  dream  that  the  annunciation- 
angel  had  brought  her.  One  morning,  however,  by 
chance  or  fate,  the  matter  was  forced  upon  her  notice. 

She  was  standing  in  the  library  with  her  husband,  who 
was  gathering  up  some  papers  to  be  used  that  day  at  the 
bank,  when  the  engineer,  Jim  Oakes,  was  ushered  in. 
Isolde,  who  had  not  seen  him  since  the  night  of  the  barn- 
dance,  gave  a  startled  cry,  and  ran  to  Steele's  side.  Jim 
looked  crestfallen  and  foolish. 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  hurt  him,  marm,"  he  said,  "an*  I 
makes  my  excuses  fur  ever  a-runnin'  him  down.  Sal,  ez 
knows  th'  track  ter  th'  end  o'  th'  road,  Sal  sez  ez  how  I 
nigh  wreck'd  th'  huh1  caboose,  an'  I  ain't  above  sayin'  ez  I 
mistook  th'  signals." 

"  Mistake  them,  you  did,  my  man,"  assented  Steele,  "but 
your  excuses  are  accepted.  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  " 


162  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Keowketcher,  no !  I  kem  ter  talk  o'  th'  mine.  Them 
tbeer  shar's  o'  mine " 

Steele  led  Isolde  to  the  door,  and  shut  it  after  her. 

"  We  will  talk  on  the  way  to  the  bank,"  he  said,  taking 
up  his  hat. 

Jim's  brawny  fist  came  down  with  a  crash  on  the  little 
s  racking-table. 

"  We'll  talk  'yer  an'  now,"  he  said,  "  an'  talk  it  out. 
Theer  ain't  no  Sal  ter  stan'  atwixt  us  'yer.  Them  theer 
shar's  o'  Ked  Ridge  ez  old  Jenkins  traded  fur  my  team  o' 
burros,  an'  I  swopped  off,  like  th'  darned  fool-cuss  I  be, 
fur  tarnation  nuthin' — them  theer  shar's  ter-day  is  wuth  a 
fortoon  !  " 

"What  the  devil  is  that  to  me?"  asked  Steele,  sav- 
agely. 

"  Wot's  itteryo'?  Yo'  want  ter  know,  doyo'?  Wai, 
I'll  tell  yo*.  It's  so  much  capytal  ter  yo',  Mr.  Steele 
Harriman  ;  its  so  many  more  fine  windeys  ter  th'  bank, 
an'  so  many  more  gran'  fixin's  ter  hum.  It's  store-clo'es 
ter  yer  back,  an*  fancy  vittuls  in  yer  mouth.  It's  so 
much  cash  in  yer  pocket — thet's  wot  it  be  ter  yo'.  If  th' 
rest  can't  see  thro'  a  tunnel,  Engine  Jim  ken.  D'  yo' 
think  I  didn't  sight  yo'  ?  Yo're  a  flyer,  yo'  be,  but  yo' 
can't  beat  me.  'Tvvar  a  put-up  job." 

Steele  looked  uneasy.  The  door  had  blown  ajar.  He 
shut  it  with  a  bang  ;  then  he  gestured  Jim  to  a  seat,  and 
took  one  opposite  him. 

"  To  begin  with,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  -that  I  can 
prosecute  you  for  libel  ?  You  have  spread  this  story  ;  I 

have  heard  it  before  to-day,  and  it  is  a  d d  lie,  every 

word  of  it.  You  would  retract  it,  of  course,  should  I 
give  you  the  present  price  of  your  shares  ?  " 

"  Ya-as,  I  reck'n  so,"  admitted  Jim,  uncertainly. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  163 

"  Let  me  have  that  promise  upon  paper." 

He  went  to  his  desk,  and  hastily  wrote  a  few  words  on 
a  sheet  of  legal-cap  paper.  Then  he  asked  Jim  to  sign 
his  name.  When,  with  equal  flow  of  ink  and  perspira- 
tion, the  signature  was  finally  appended,  Steele  folded 
the  sheet  and  shut  it  in  his  wallet  with  a  triumphant 
smile. 

"  The  charge  of  libel  is  now  supplemented  by  that  of 
blackmail,"  he  said.  "  This  paper  will  convict  you  in  any 
court  in  the  land.  Both  are  long-term  offences,  my 
man." 

Jim  scratched  his  curly  head  in  open-mouthed  bewil- 
derment. He  was  unprepared  for  this  turning  of  the 
tables.  Nevertheless  he  held  to  his  conviction. 

"  'Twar  a  put-up  job,"  he  reiterated. 

"  It  was  a  put-up  job,"  assented  Steele,  "  and  I  am 
your  fellow-victim.  I  believed  the  old  mine  to  be  hope- 
lessly dead  stock,  and  negotiated  for  the  settlers  in 
friendship,  setting  a  price  upon  their  shares  which,  though 
comparatively  small,  was  yet  beyond  their  wildest  dreams. 
When  I  saw  that  the  mine  was  proving  a  good  specula- 
tion, no  one  was  more  surprised,  as  no  one  was  a  heavier 
loser,  than  L  But  I  bear  my  loss  like  a  man,  not  like  a 
whimpering  old  woman.  Now  go  and  take  back  your 
lies,  or  I'll  have  you  in  jail  before  night." 

The  man  shambled  out,  convinced  and  penitent. 
Steele,  turning  toward  the  door  with  a  look  of  mingled 
triumph  and  relief,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Isolde. 
She  was  gastly  pale,  and  her  hands,  as  they  clasped  each 
other,  trembled  nervously. 

"You  remember,"  she  panted,  "that  on  the  evening 
following  our  ride  to  the  Settlement  I  felt  suddenly  ill. 
I  came  downstairs  for  you.  Mr.  Kingsley  was  with  you 


164  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

in  the  library.  I  stood  at  the  door  hesitating  to  disturb 
you,  and  your  words  reached  me.  I  did  not  guess  their 
application,  and  they  made  no  impression  upon  me  at  the 
time ;  but  they  have  coine  back  to  me  clearly,  every  one. 
You  said,  '  The  mine  was  never  half- worked.  There  is  a 
rich  lode  in  it,  I  swear  to  you  !  Halve  the.  expenses,  and 
I  will  halve  the  profits.  Randal  can  be  the  cat's-paw,  and 
we  will  silence  him  with  a  small  chestnut.  The  fire  holds 
a  fortune  for  us  !  " 

She  pressed  her  trembling  hands  to  her  forehead. 

"  They  are  burning  my  brain,"  she  cried  ;  "  they  are 
ringing  in  my  ears  ;  they  are  flaming  before  my  eyes. 
You  have  deceived  the  poor  creatures  who  have  trusted 
you — you  have  enriched  yourself  by  their  ruin — you — 
you " 

He  drew  on  his  coat,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  His 
face  was  calm,  cruelly  calm  ;  but  his  eyes  flashed  omi- 
nously. 

"  I  may  not  return  to  luncheon,  since  I  am  late  in  get- 
ting down-town,"  he  said.  "Kingsley  will  dine  with 
us." 

She  sprung  to  the  door  and  stood  with  her  back  against 
it. 

"  You  are  not  going — like  this  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  I  am  going  '  like  this,'  now  and  always.  Understand 
once  for  all,  Isolde,  that  I  deny  your  right,  as  a  woman, 
to  interfere  in  my  business  affairs.  Moreover,  I  refuse 
to  be  called  to  an  account  by  you  or  anyone." 

The  latent  strength  in  her  gentle  face  seemed  suddenly 
to  assert  itself.  Her  eyes  were  still  appealing,  but  her 
lips  were  as  lips  of  stone. 

"  I  am  not  a  child,"  she  said,  "  to  be  silenced  by  stern 
words.  There  is  a  duty  I  owe  to  others,  a  duty  I  owe  to 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  165 

myself,  as  well  as  a  duty  I  owe  to  you,  which  forbids  me 
to  be  accessory  to  this  cruel  wrong,  even  though  my 
husband  be  the  wrong-doer.  Eight  your  wrong,  Steele, 
not  because  I  ask  you,  but  because  your  own  soul  de- 
mands it,  and  I  will  forget  it.  If  you  refuse,  I — I  must 
appeal  to  your  father." 

A  terrible  look  flashed  into  his  face,  but  he  masked  it 
with  a  sudden  smile. 

"  Our  first  quarrel,  and  over  a  mere  trifle ! "  he  laughed. 
"  My  dear,  this  is  a  bad  precedent.  The  fault,  however, 
is  mine.  I  should  have  explained  the  matter  clearly  to 
you  at  first,  but  that  boorish  fellow  upset  my  temper. 
The  bargain  was  an  honest  one.  The  shares  were  dead 
paper  in  the  men's  pockets.  They  sold  them  voluntarily 
and  we  paid  a  good,  even  a  generous,  price  for  them.  The 
purchase  was  a  foolhardy  risk,  which  had  only  my  blind 
and  unreasonable  faith  in  the  mine  to  excuse  it.  The 
after- work  was  at  our  expense ;  the  possible,  the  probable 
loss  we  were  prepared  to  bear  alone  ;  therefore,  we  were 
entitled  to  the  unexpected  gain.  The  affair  is  simply  a 
business  transaction,  shrewd  and  hard  perhaps,  to  a 
woman's  thinking,  but  legitimate  in  law,  and  honorable. 
A  thousand  such  are  transacted  openly  every  day.  I  did 
not  care  to  appear  in  the  matter,  simply  because  it  is  not 
wise  for  a  banker  to  be  known  as  a  speculator ;  moreover, 
I  knew  that,  in  case  of  success,  I  should  be  besieged  for 
shares,  and  Kingsley  made  it  a  condition  of  his  invest- 
ment that  we  should  keep  the  mine  in  our  own  hands. 
For  the  first  time,  Isolde,  you  have  demanded  that  your 
husband  should  justify  himself  to  you.  It  must  be  your 
last  demand  of  the  kind." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  He  was  not  at  fault, 
then,  after  all.  His  deed  was  lawful,  according  to  a  man's 


166  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

hard  creed,  though  irreconcilable  with  a  woman's  standard 
of  right  and  justice.  She  lifted  her  clasped  hands  and 
leaned  them  on  his  shoulder. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  exaggerated  your  wrong,"  she  said, 
"but  it  still  seems  a  wicked,  cruel  wrong  to  me.  Repair 
it,  Steele  ;  ill-gotten  wealth  will  bring  no  blessing.  He- 
store  the  shares  or  their  equivalent — for  my  sake." 

He  led  her  to  a  chair,  and  pressed  his  lips  lightly  on 
her  forehead. 

"  Not  even  for  your  sweet  sake,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  can 
I,  in  the  present  state  of  the  bank,  afford  to  be  quixotic. 
The  National  is  crowding  me  fast  and  furiously,  and 
in  keeping  well  ahead  of  it,  I  have  taken  more  hurdles 
than  I  can  well  clear.  To  be  plain  with  you,  the  Red 
Ridge  profits  have  saved  the  bank  from  ruin,  the  banker 
from  disgrace." 

He  whistled  a  gay  air  as  he  sauntered  out.  At  the  door 
he  lighted  a  cigar  and  walked  down  the  path,  puffing  at  it 
jauntily. 

But  hours  afterward  Isolde  still  crouched  where  he 
had  left  her,  her  bright  head  bowed  on  the  leathern  arm 
of  the  library  chair. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    MIDNIGHT    TOAST. 

The  point  at  which  love  ceases  to  be  blind  is  not  clearly 
defined.  Sometimes  the  life  of  disillusion  bursts  suddenly 
upon  dazzled  eyes  ;  sometimes  it  dawns  and  deepens  in 
almost  imperceptible  gradations.  In  such  gradations, 
unconsciously  to  Isolde,  disillusion  had  crept  upon  her. 
Spiritually,  the  husband  had  not  fulfilled  the  promise  of 
the  lover.  His  sin,  like  a  cancer  day  by  day  eating  deeper 
into  the  sound  white  flesh,  had  meshed  his  soul  in  its  toils. 
He  could  not  hide  his  deterioration.  The  time  came  when 
even  Isolde's  eyes,  though  the  glamour  of  love  was  on  them, 
could  no  longer  be  blinded  to  it.  The  hours,  as  she 
crouched  in  the  library  chair,  were  hours  of  death-agony. 
"When  she  rose,  her  breast  was  the  shroud,  her  heart  the 
grave,  of  Faith's  fair  young  dream. 

In  spite  of  her  efforts  to  conceal  the  change,  it  was  not 
long  before  her  husband  realized  that  love's  roseate  fillet 
had  fallen  from  her  eyes.  He  was  still  her  idol,  but  she 
had  discovered  his  feet  to  be  of  clay.  At  first  the  realiza- 
tion caused  him  a  pang  of  almost  unendurable  pain,  but  as 
his  deterioration  went  on,  the  pain  faded  to  a  light  regret. 
Not  that  he  loved  her  less.  Sometimes  he  fancied  that  his 
love  grew  with  every  hour  of  his  life,  every  throb  of  his 
heart  ;  but  his  moral  sense  was  blunted.  The  conscious- 
ness of  his  unworthiness  no  longer  tortured  him.  To  the 
stab  of  conscience  his  sin-drugged  spirit  was  benumbed. 


168  A   SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  honeymoon,  which  had  waxed  and  waned,  been  re- 
vivified and  waxed  anew,  now  waned  forever.  He  watched 
it  flicker  out  with  an  unconscious  sigh  of  relief.  Love's 
fever  had  been  fierce,  if  brief  ;  love's  calm  was  welcome. 
Uncertainty  was  replaced  by  assurance,  novelty  by  habi- 
tude, fancy  by  reality.  With  the  impetuous  self-surrender 
to  the  pursuit  of  the  moment,  which  was  characteristic  of 
him,  he  now  abandoned  himself  to  his  financial  ambitions. 
His  clear  brain,  his  natural  speculative  aptitude,  his  ambi- 
tion, daring,  unscrupulousness — above  all,  his  "  devil's 
luck,"  tended  to  make  him  the  central  figure  in  the  group 
of  speculators  whom  he  had  attracted  about  him.  Almost 
without  exception  these  were  financiers  whose  name  and 
fame,  enviable  or  otherwise,  were  known  throughout  the 
West.  The  fact  that  such  men,  old  in  the  world  to  which 
he  was  a  new-comer,  not  only  looked  at  him,  but  up  to 
him,  he  found  intoxicating.  Leadership  had  been,  in  a 
measure,  forced  upon  him.  Since  he  had  accepted  it,  he 
must,  he  would  hold  to  it,  for  life  or  death  !  A  few  of 
his  associates  were  his  friends  as  well  as  their  own  ;  the 
greater  number  were  their  own  exclusively.  These 
spurred  him  to  a  reckless  gait,  following  cautiously  in  his 
footsteps.  He  was  far  too  clever  to  degenerate  into  their 
cat's-paw,  as  Randal  had  degenerated  into  his,  and  the 
chestnuts  he  pulled  from  the  fire  were  his  own,  but  he  did 
not  obtain  them  unburned.  His  wounds  were  slight,  but 
on  young  flesh  slight  wounds  tell.  It  was  to  heal  their 
scars  that  he  had  plunged  so  recklessly  into  the  Red 
Ridge  mine. 

Foremost  among  the  few  men  specified  as  his  friends, 
loyal  and  comparatively  disinterested,  stood  Ralph  Kings- 
ley.  Since  their  first  chance  meeting  through  an  asso- 
ciate named  Rundell — a  meeting  which,  having  been  un- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  169 

der  feminine,  but  not  reputable  feminine,  auspices  (though 
surely  this  is  a  paradox),  it  may  be  as  well  not  to  de- 
scribe— the  men  had  been  drawn  to  each  other  by  a 
mutual  attraction  which  intimate  acquaintance  seemed  to 
intensify.  A  few  days  after  the  excitement  attendant 
upon  the  Red  Ridge  boom  had  subsided,  Kingsley  re- 
turned to  Newfield,  from  which,  at  the  time,  he  had 
beaten  a  discreet  retreat,  and  sought  Steele  at  the  bank. 

"Bad  news,"  he  began,  without  preface.  "  Rundell 
recalls  his  loan." 

"  The  deuce  !  "  ejaculated  Steele.     "  What's  up  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  bigger  spec  on  hand — lands  in  the  direction 
of  the  C.,  B.  &  Q.'s  proposed  branch-road.  I  suggested 
a  'combine  '  for  you  without  success." 

"  What  was  his  ground  for  refusal  ?  " 

"  It  was  '  wine  in  and  truth  out '  with  him.  He  said 
he  had  been  a  fool  and  let  you  into  too  much  already." 

"  He'll  let  me  into  more  before  I  have  done  with  him. 
Recalls  his  loan,  does  he  ?  Well,  he  gets  not  a  d — d  cent. 
And  I  will  have  a  finger  in  those  lands,  or  swamp  them. 
My  eye  has  been  on  them  all  along.  Will  you  go  into 
them  with  me  ?  " 

"  Impossible.     I  am  drowned  fathoms  deep  in  oil." 

"  All  right.     I'm  equal  to  them." 

"  What  will  you  raise  on  ?  " 

"  On  the  devil,  if  nothing  better  turns  up.  It  is  win 
or  die  with  me.  You  don't  half  know  me  yet,  old  fellow." 

"  No,"  admitted  Kingsley,  "  I  do  not  half  know  you." 

This  short  interview  revealed  the  young  banker's  char- 
acter to  him  in  a  new  light.  He  had  known  him  socially 
as  "  a  good  fellow" — the  social  misnomer  for  a  bad  one — 
and  in  the  Red  Ridge  Mine  transaction  had  discovered 
him  to  be  as  unscrupulous  as  he  was  daring.  But  to  defy 


170  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Rundell  implied  more  than  daring.  He  was  a  man  with 
whom  few  cared  to  interfere ;  a  gross,  surly,  iron-willed 
man,  a  wily  financier,  and,  politically,  a  power.  The  young 
banker's  attitude  toward  him  implied  a  latent  strength 
which  Kingsley  had  not  suspected,  and  which  he  both 
liked  and  admired,  Steele  was  conscious  of  the  favorable 
impression  he  had  made,  and  confirmed  it.  He  retained 
the  loan,  and  had  more  than  one  finger  in  the  railroad- 
land  pie,  as  well. 

At  about  this  period  a  new  era  in  the  social  life  of  the 
Harriman  house  began.  In  the  early  days  of  her  mar- 
riage, Isolde  had  sighed  because  the  door  of  the  library 
seemed  to  shut  her  put  from  a  phase  of  her  husband's 
life.  Now  she  sighed  because  the  door  was  opened. 
Library  and  drawing-room  were  now  as  one,  and  the 
strident  voices  formerly  subdued  by  distance  now  rang 
in  coarse,  rude  accents  in  her  ear.  For  a  little  space  she 
submitted  in  dazed  fashion,  but  ere  long  she  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  she  had  been  made  the  centre  of  a  circle 
the  outskirts  of  which,  a  year  earlier,  she  would  have 
shunned  as  contamination.  She  appealed  to  her  hus- 
band, and  he  laughed  at  her  ;  to  Althea,  and  was  met  by 
stony  unconsciousness  and  misconception.  More  than 
once  she  felt  sorely  tempted  to  appeal  to  Ralph  Kings- 
ley.  There  was  something  about  him  that  convinced  her, 
even  against  the  evidence  of  her  own  eyes  and  ears,  that 
he  was  not  like  his  companions.  Inadvertently,  she  had 
probed  beneath  the  cynical  surface,  and  found  the  under- 
grain  good.  He  was  conscious  of  her  discovery,  and  she 
was  conscious  of  his  consciousness.  A  secret  sympathy 
and  understanding  between  them  was  the  natural  result — 
one  which  as  yet,  however,  they  realized  but  dimly.  Their 
conscious  attitude  toward  each  other  was  one  of  mutual 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  171 

uncertainty.  Against  the  good  she  suspected  in  him  was 
the  evil  she  knew  ;  while  on  his  side,  he  could  not  forget 
that  she  was  a  woman  ;  a  title  which,  unfortunately,  one 
sharp  lesson  in  his  earlier  life  had  taught  him  to  hold  in 
small  respect. 

Newfield,  meantime,  was  not  unobservant  of  the  wheels 
within  wheels  whirling  under  the  impetus  of  Steele  Har- 
riman's  hands.  It  was  whispered  that  the  Newfield  Bank 
was  not  the  only  bank  that  represented  his  interests ;  and 
that  these,  unconfined  by  bank- walls,  were  threading,  like 
strong  quick  fibres,  the  financial  heart  of  the  West. 
These  masculine  whispers,  overheard  by  quick  feminine 
ears,  lost  nothing  in  the  repetition.  Newfield  generally, 
even  Newfield  individually,  began  to  feel  a  personal  pride 
in  the  bank  and  banker,  shining  in  reflected  light,  finan- 
cial and  social,  with  amusing  complacency. 

"  That  thar's  my  bank — th'  Newfield  bank — Harri- 
man's ! "  the  local  inhabitant  would  boast,  an  upward  and 
outward  sweep  of  his  brawny  thumb  indicating  the  bank 
to  some  open-mouthed  country  cousin. 

"There  goes  cump'ny-folks  ter  the  big  house — more 
cump'ny-folks  ! "  was  the  daily  feminine  remark,  as  the 
Harriman  carriage,  filled  with  guests,  dashed  through 
the  town.  In  fact,  the  big  house  became  the  cynosure  of 
the  local  Argus  eyes.  Isolde  shrunk  from  the  eyes  in 
dread  and  fear.  What  might  not  they  discover?  Her 
dread,  her  fear,  were  the  more  cruel  because  they  were 
undefined. 

As  Newfield  grew  observant,  Dr.  Keene,  whose  inti- 
macy with  Isolde  had  lessened  since  her  marriage,  re- 
established it  with  frank  determination,  and  began  to 
appear  almost  nightly  in  the  Harriman  drawing-room, 
the  reverend  Druce  often  by  his  side.  At  first  Isolde 


172  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

ascribed  the  change  to  an  old  man's  whim  ;  but  when 
she  discovered  that  the  whim  was  not  indulged  without  a 
motive  deeper  than  she  had  suspected,  she  shrunk  from 
him,  as  if  resenting  his  presence,  with  startled  regret  and 
shame.  Later  on,  however,  as  her  need  of  such  loyal 
service  as  his  grew  greater,  she  looked  up  into  his  rugged 
old  face  with  grateful  eyes. 

"You  are  so  good,  so  good!"  she  cried,  incoherently. 

But  the  doctor  understood. 

Steele  smiled  at  first  at  the  incongruous  appearance  of 
the  doctor  and  Druce  in  the  drawing-room,  whose  other 
frequenters  were  of  such  contrasting  types  ;  but  later  on 
he  began  to  regard  the  constant  presence  of  the  two  men 
with  resentful  suspicion. 

"  Are  they  your  body-guard  ? "  he  asked  Isolde,  one 
night,  when  he  had  felt  their  presence  more  than  usually 
irritating. 

The  words  were  a  tacit  admission  of  the  position  into 
which  he  had  forced  her — an  unwise  admission,  since  she 
had  endured  in  silence  only  because  she  believed  herself 
to  be  the  victim  of  chance,  rather  than  of  deliberate 
intent. 

"  You  realize,  then,  that  I  am  in  need  of  a  body- 
guard?" she  said,  slowly.  "Until  now  I  have  hoped,  I 
have  believed,  even,  that  you  did  not  realize  it  Steele, 
what  is  left  me  of  faith  and  honor  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  something  easier,  my  dear.  That  style  of 
problem  went  out  with  the  ark." 

She  scarcely  heard  the  scoffing  answer.  What  was 
left  her  of  faith  and  honor?  she  had  asked  him.  But 
this  was  not  the  complete  question.  Faith,  honor — there 
was  one  thing  more. 

"  What  is  left  me  of— love,  Steele  ?  "  she  sobbed. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  173 

"  This — and  this — and  this !  "  he  cried,  kissing  her 
protesting  lips  to  silence. 

Aye,  such  alone  are  the  lees  of  love,  be  faith  and  honor 
spilled  ! 

Steele  was  a  genial  host,  even  to  the  unwelcome  guesi, 
and  from  his  manner,  neither  Druce  nor  Dr.  Keene  could 
suspect  his  distaste  to  their  presence  under  his  roof. 
Some  of  his  guests,  however,  were  less  courteous.  The 
old  doctor  was  inoffensive,  in  spite  of  his  gruffness  ;  but 
the  mere  presence  of  the  pale,  pure-faced  young  minister 
was  found  intolerable  by  many  of  the  frequenters  of  the 
house,  and  these  did  not  even  feign  to  conceal  their  an- 
tipathy. More  than  once  Druce's  cheeks  had  flushed, 
and  his  soft  eyes  flashed,  under  the  stab  of  an  open  sneer ; 
but  the  eyes  were  veiled,  and  the  proud  young  blood  con- 
trolled, by  the  grace  of  "  Jesus,  meek  and  humble  of 
Heart."  Here  was  an  acre,  perhaps  the  most  precious  in 
his  Master's  vineyard.  Should  he  leave  the  vine  to  its 
untrained  way,  because  the  weeds  resisted  him  ?  The 
doctor's  care  was  all  for  Isolde  ;  the  minister's  for  Steele. 
He  saw  that  the  world  and  the  flesh  had  snared  the  fallen 
soul,  but  he  believed  that  their  triumph  would  be  but 
brief. 

One  night  it  chanced  that  the  two  outstayed  the  other 
guests,  a  discussion  having  arisen  from  the  doctor's  de- 
risive account,  resented  by  Druce,  of  a  Methodist  revival 
in  an  adjacent  settlement.  Druce's  creed  was  orthodox  ; 
the  doctor,  a  religious  man  but  not  a  religionist,  upheld 
the  broad  creed  which  neither  questions  Divinity  nor 
judges  humanity,  but  is  content  to  leave  all  ends,  like  all 
beginnings,  to  an  infinitely  wise,  as  infinitely  merciful 
God. 

" The  Methodists  are  a  great  sect,"  said  Druce.     "If 


174  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

we  do  not  wholly  agree  with  their  preaching,  at  least  we 
can  honor  their  practice.  The  Catholics  were  the  pioneers 
of  church  and  creed  ;  the  Methodists  of  religion,  pure 
and  simple.  They  brought  Christ  down  from  heaven, 
changed  Him  from  a  God  into  a  real,  live,  toiling,  suffer- 
ing, human  brother-Man,  set  Him  face  to  face  with  every 
man,  woman  and  child,  whose  human  lives  were  divinized 
thereafter.  If  their  methods  are,  as  the  doctor  says, 
theatrical,  so  are  Nature's ;  so  are  Human  Nature's. 
There  is  tragedy,  drama,  comedy,  in  every  phase  of 
natural  and  human  life.  The  circuit  rider  was  father  to 
the  pastor,  the  founder  of  all  Protestantism  in  the  West, 
to-day.  Honor  to  him,  and  to  his  followers !  " 

"  Bravo,  Druce!"  said  Steele,  "  the  Methodists  have  a  re- 
cruit. "  Suppose  you  mount  the  bench,  and  give  us  your 
experience." 

He  threw  himself  at  ease  upon  a  low  couch,  exhaling 
the  smoke  of  his  cigar  with  slow  enjoyment. 

"  Methodist  or  Puseyite,  Unitarian  or  Presbyterian,  Jew 
or  Catholic,  what's  in  a  name  ?  "  he  said.  "  Keligion  is  a 
jewel  precious  not  in  itself,  but  in  its  setting.  Your 
charming  personality,  for  instance,  dear  your  Reverence, 
makes  your  religion  a  '  pearl  of  price  ! ' ' 

Druce  took  leave,  somewhat  abruptly  ;  the  doctor  fol- 
lowed him.  Isolde  looked  after  them  with  sorrowful 
shamed  eyes.  When  the  door  was  shut  upon  them,  she 
stole  to  her  husband's  side,  and  slipped  her  hand  in  his 
with  much  of  the  shy  tenderness  of  earlier  days.  She  felt 
that  the  minister  was  disappointed  in  him.  With  a 
woman's  loyal  impulse  she  enlisted  on  the  losing  side. 

"You  were  only  jesting,  I  know,  Steele,"  she  said,  "but 
the  jest  was  a  scoff.  Tell  me  that  you  did  not  mean  it — 
that  you  do  not  think  religion  is — nothing." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  175 

•'  I  think  as  I  said,"  he  answered,  making  room  on  the 
couch,  and  drawing  her  down  beside  him.  "  Religion  is 
just  what  and  only  what  the  professor  makes  it :  hypo- 
crisy in  the  hypocrite,  cant  in  the  Pharisee,  truth  in  the 
fanatic." 

"Truth  in  the  sincere  Christian,  you  mean." 

"The  sincere  Christian  is  the  fanatic  ;  his  Christianity 
an  ecstatic,  hysterical  fancy  ;  but  truth  to  him." 

"And  not  to  you?  Then  you  are  not  a  Christian? 
What  are  you,  Steele  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  man,  my  dear :  a  man  of  the  world  ;  a  man  of 
the  world  of  to-day.  I  profess  nothing,  I  deny  nothing. 
As  truth  is,  let  it  be.  I  do  not  oppose  it.  I  simply  claim 
freedom,  public  and  private :  freedom  to  think  as  I  choose, 
to  speak  as  I  choose,  to  act  as  I  choose — and  this  claim  I 
assert  against  even  you." 

"  Not  against  me,  Steele  ;  do  not  deceive  yourself ;  but 
against  your  own  best  and  highest  self — against  your 
God  !  " 

"  God  !  The  old  Word  !  the  old  Name  !  the  old  unan- 
swering  answer  ! 

"The  all-answering  answer,  you  mean!  Above  Him, 
beyond  Him,  is  who,  what  ?  " 

"  No  one,  nothing,  for  you,  my  sweet,  I  admit !  You 
are — a  woman." 

"Yes,  a  woman — 'woman,  a  helper,'  as  Scripture  has 
it.  I  begin  to  think  that  the  revised  Testament  should 
read,  '  a  helper-up  ! ' ' 

"  Up  to  what,  to  whom  ?  he  asked,  passionately.  "  To 
God  and  Christ,  you  will  say.  What  can  God  and  Christ 
ever  be  to  humanity  but  myths  ? — the  Christian  mj'th  of 
to-day,  replacing  the  pagan  myth  of  yesterday,  to  be  re- 
placed by  the  scientific  myth  of  to-morrow.  Not  God, 


17G  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

but  man,  is  the  one  reality  of  tins  little  life,  and  to  make 
each  clay  an  earthly  heaven — this  is  the  best  life  holds 
— life,  to  a  man,  is  not  what  a  woman  conceives  it — a 
mere  succession  of  days  and  nights  and  seasons,  a  round 
of  duty,  a  dull  routine  of  toil.  These  pave  the  track  ;  life 
is  the  exultant  racer  that  speeds  along  it.  Life  means  to 
a  man  tlje  surge  of  hot  blood  through  his  veins,  the  thrill 
of  his  virile  flesh,  the  throb  of  his  strong  heart,  the  leap 
of  his  quick  pulses.  It  means  the  glorious  freshness  of 
youth,  the  vigor  of  health,  the  strength  and  conscious 
power  of  maturity.  It  means  the  slow,  delicious  awaken- 
ing out  of  dreamless  sleep  to  the  glow  and  fragrance  of 
morning — the  plunge  into  sparkling  waters,  the  dash  into 
dewy  air.  It  means  the  seductive  lassitude  that  steals 
on  with  the  night ;  the  relaxation  of  tense  muscles  ;  the 
stretch  of  languorous  limbs  on  soft  couches;  the  sensuous 
passage  through  lotos-realms  that  bridge  both  sleep  and 
waking  ;  the  slow,  resistless  drifting  of  an  active  brain 
over  the  falls  of  dreamland  into  the  deeps  of  sleep.  It 
means  the  rush  and  crush  of  the  great  human  world  ;  the 
splendid  whirl  of  the  rival  wheels  of  trade,  profession, 
art,  finance,  politics.  It  means  the  grapple  of  brain,  the 
strife  of  hands,  the  competition  of  skill,  the  pitting  of 
forces.  It  means  the  revolving  cycle  of  risk,  gain,  loss, 
failure,  triumph,  downfall  and  uprising,  defeat  and  vic- 
tory, struggle  and  rest,  war  and  peace,  pain  and  pleasure. 
It  means  the  wrestle,  the  race,  the  chase,  the  joust,  the 
tourney.  It  means  the  rattle  of  dice  ;  the  flash  of  cards  ; 
the  spell  of  chance.  It  means  the  glow  and  sparkle,  the 
warmth  and  exhilaration  of  wine  ;  the  dream  of  love  ;  the 
fever  Bof  passion.  To  be  a  man — God  !  It  is  heaven 
enough.  Let  hell  come  after !  " 

On  a  salver  at  hand  stood  a  bottle  of  wine  with  a  long- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  177 

stemmed  glass  beside  it.  He  sprang  toward  it,  and  fill- 
ing the  glass  to  the  brim,  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

"A  toast,"  he  cried,  "a  man's  toast,  to  the  man's  life ! 
It  is  —  '  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we 
die  ! ' " 

Solemnly,  as  if  resounding  the  evil  words  to  heaven, 
over  the  silence,  broken  only  by  the  moan  of  the  night- 
wind  through  the  cottonwoods,  the  church-clock  tolled 
the  midnight  hour. 

Those  twelve  strokes  were  the  knell  of  Steele  Harri- 
man's  better  life.  Hitherto  his  soul  had  fluttered  between 
earth  and  heaven,  like  a  moth  between  rushlight  and 
star.  Thenceforward  its  wings  strained  no  more  toward 
heaven.  World-bound,  flesh-bound,  they  failed,  and 
sunk  to  earth. 


CHAPTER   XVL 

MAGDALEN. 

Material  life  is  a  barometer  whose  sensitive  mercury 
responds  to  every  subtle  fluctuation  of  the  soaring  or  sink- 
ing spirit.  Therefore  it  was  inevitable  that  this  episode 
in  Steele  Harriraan's  spiritual  life  should  cast  its  material 
reflection.  With  his  own  hand  he  had  slain  Isolde's  faith 
in  him.  Bereft  of  its  pure  ideal  to  which  to  live  up,  in 
masculine  consequence,  he  lived  down.  Isolde  watched 
him,  dizzily.  She  scarcely  realized  the  terrible  change, 
its  revelation  had  been  so  sharp  and  sudden.  Life  had 
been  all  song  and  golden  sunshine,  and  in  the  space  of  one 
sharp  lightning-flash  the  sun  had  set  forever,  and  only 
darkness  was  left. 

Shut  out  by  love — for  Steele  grew  morose  and  moody — 
she  fled  to  her  writing  for  relief,  as  the  sufferer  to  the 
anodyne  of  his  pain ;  surrendering  herself  with  the  aban- 
donment of  despair,  to  her  art.  But  woman  or  artist, 
love  or  art — who  shall  doubt  the  stronger  ?  There  were 
hours,  days,  weeks  together,  when  she  spurned  her  manu- 
script with  passionate  hand,  and  flung  away  her  pen,  cry- 
ing out  that  she  would  dissemble  no  longer,  that  heart 
was  all,  and  brain  nothing ;  that  she  would  sell  her  art,  as 
Esau  his  birthright,  for  the  sweet  warm  human  pottage 
her  human  heart  was  hungering  for.  But  later  came  the 
reaction.  Artist -like,  she  was  a  creature  of  moods  ;  reflec- 
tive, superficially,  of  outer  influences  as  a  river-surface  of 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  179 

overhanging  skies.  She  felt  strong,  happy,  triumphant, 
us  she  took  up  her  pen.  A  font  of  inspiration  seemed 
suddenly  loosed  within  her.  This  was  life — this  subtle, 
intoxicating  consciousness  of  the  creative  power,  that  was 
quickening  pulse  and  brain.  Love !  What  was  love  but 
a  brief,  sweet,  human  dream?  Art  was  the  one,  true, 
imperious  passion  of  an  artist's  life. 

From  morning  till  night  she  wrote  with  feverish  eager- 
ness ;  but  the  work  if  crude,  was  strong  and  vivid,  and 
found  favor  with  press  and  public.  One  day  she  dashed 
off  a  poem  of  more  than  ordinary  passion  and  power,  and 
submitted  it  to  Dr.  Keene,  who,  though  he  had  warned 
her  of  "the  cost  and  the  pain,"  was,  nevertheless,  her 
literary  mentor.  He  returned  it. 

"Your  soul  is  in  a  transition-state,"  he  wrote,  "and 
your  Muse  is  in  travail  with  it.  Give  her  time,  and  she 
will  come  forth  with  new  and  ripened  powers.  Deliver 
her  prematurely,  and  her  youth,  her  strength,  her  spon- 
taneity will  be  slain  forever.  You  can  afford  to  wait. 
Your  genius  is  immortal." 

She  was  musing  over  this  message  when  her  husband 
came  in,  and  playfully  taking  the  note  from  her  hands, 
read  it  in  spite  of  her  protests. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  subject  yourself — or  me — to  another 
such  impertinence,"  he  said,  tearing  it  into  shreds  which 
he  contemptuously  flung  away.  "  You  write  for  the  public, 
let  the  public  judge  your  work.  And  now  off  with  the 
blue-stockings,  and  on  with  the  jewels.  Eundell  has 
wired,  announcing  an  inroad  of  guests  by  the  evening 
train." 

The  guests  arrived  duly.  All,  with  the  exception  of 
Rundell,  were  strangers  to  Isolde,  but  of  a  type  she  already 
knew  too  well.  They  were  familiar  in  address,  flashy  in 


ISO  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

attire,  coarse  in  jest,  and  all  deep  drinkers.  She  excused 
herself  from  the  table  as  soon  as  possible.  When  they 
joined  her  in  the  drawing-room  they  were  visibly  under 
the  influence  of  wine.  At  her  husband's  command  she 
gave  some  music,  and  then  escaped  to  her  room.  When 
he  followed  at  midnight,  he  was  hilarious,  and  slightly 
incoherent. 

"  They're  slap-down  good  fellows,"  he  said,  enthusiasti- 
cally, "  and  represent  a  dozen  millions  between  'em. 
That  Rundell's  the  black  sheep  of  the  lot,  but  I  cau't 
afford  to  offend  him.  There's  a  few  women  connected 
with  'em  one  way  and  another,  and  he's  proposed  bring- 
in'  'em  down  here,  over  Sunday.  They  mayn't  be  just 
your  style,  but  we've  got  to  make  the  best  of  it — sabe  f 
They're  a  gay  crowd,  and  I  don't  want  my  wife  to  be  out- 
shone, mark  that.  Order  some  scrumptious  rigs,  if  you're 
out  of  'em,  and  don't  be  afraid  of  the  cash.  I'll  stand  it." 

The  guests  arrived  on  the  following  Saturday.  Isolde, 
with  frigid  courtesy,  received  them.  The  women  were 
three  in  number,  all  handsome,  all  vivacious  in  manner, 
all  extravagantly  attired.  Before  they  had  been  an  hour 
in  the  house,  Isolde  was  overlooked  entirely,  but  about 
their  host  they  radiated  like  satellites  around  a  sun. 
When,  dinner  being  ended,  Isolde  gave  the  eldest  of  the 
three  the  customary  signal,  she  openly  laughed  at  her. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  she  said.  "The  twin  P's — parlor 
and  piano,  I  suppose  ;  a  paraphrase  upon  'Home,  Sweet 
Home,'  or  the  'Last  Rose,'  with  a  pathetic  tremolo  in  the 
last  verse.  Many  thanks,  but  I  prefer  a  cigarette — and 
your  husband." 

"  And  her  husband  prefers  you — and  a  cigar,"  laughed 
her  host,  lighting  a  weed  as  he  spoke.  "  A  cigar  is  to  a 
man  what  love  is  to  a  woman — the  material  germ  of  a 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  181 

rapturous  dream  which  kindles,  flames  to  fire,  and — 
flickers  out  ;  ending  in  both  cases  in  a  puff  of  smoke,  and 
— ashes  !  " 

"  And  then  ?  "  questioned  one  of  the  women. 

"  And  then — the  man  lights  a  fresh  cigar,  the  woman 
takes  a  new  lover,  and  the  old  dreams  are  dreamed  over. 
Dreams !  dreams !  dreams  !  Life  is  a  dream,  love  is  a 
dream,  death  is  a  dream  !  The  only  reality  is — nothing." 

"Apropos  of  what,  Harriman — or  rather  of  whom?" 
queried  Eundell,  daringly.  "A  man's,  even  a  married 
man's  cheap  cynicisms  and  negative  philosophies  are  said 
to  have  a  feminine  '  raison  d'etre.' " 

"  Naturally,"  replied  Steele,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  woman 
at  his  right  hand — the  youngest  and  by  far  the  handsom- 
est woman  of  the  three — "  since  femininity  is  the  univer- 
sal '  raison  d'etre.'  Theology  has  it,  '  born  of  God  ! ' 
Physiology,  which  is  the  theology  of  our  material  modern 
age,  says  '  born  of  woman  ! '  * 

"  Hush ! "  cautioned  the  oldest  and  boldest  woman, 
tapping  his  lips  with  her  cigarette.  "  No  naughty 
speeches  here  !  Mrs.  Harriman 's  'ologies  do  not  include 
ambilogy." 

"  Toddle  along,  Isolde,"  laughed  Steele,  "  since  you're 
not  a  smoker.  We'll  join  you  later." 

"  Yes — much  later ! "  laughed  the  second  woman. 

Isolde  did  not  hear  her.  She  had  already  dropped  the 
portiere  behind  her,  seized  a  wrap  that  lay  on  one  of  the 
chairs,  and  darted  from  the  house. 

The  wind  blew  bleakly  through  the  leafless  cotton- 
woods.  Between  their  ghost-like  trunks,  snows,  like 
trailing  shrouds,  were  drifting.  With  trembling  hands 
she  caught  up  her  train,  and  sped  down  the  path,  out  the 
gate,  into  the  dark  Ledge-road.  The  sky  was  starless  and 


182  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

lowering  ;  stray  flakes  of  snow  began  to  fall — harbingers 
of  a  coming  squall.  The  wind  beat  her  back,  stinging 
her  face  and  freezing  her  breath  upon  her  parted  lips, 
but  she  pressed  on  resolutely.  The  fierce  bark  of  a 
watch-dog,  aroused  by  the  light  fall  of  her  feet  on  the 
frosty  ground,  stilled  her  heart  with  terror.  Once  she 
heard  the  sharp  cry  of  a  famished  cayote,  astray  from  its 
prairie  herd.  She  paused,  shaking  with  fear  and  cold, 
but  she  would  not  turn  back.  Her  love,  her  faith,  her 
pride,  were  outraged.  She  shrunk  from  the  tender  mem- 
ories of  the  past  with  burning  cheeks  and  lowered 
eyelids.  She  shrunk  from  the  future  with  a  shuddering 
heartsickness  such  as  only  a  white  soul  threatened  by  the 
nrire  can  know.  What  further  outrage  it  held  for  her  she 
too  clearly  foresaw. 

A  sudden  choking  anguish  was  in  her  throat.  She 
clutched  it  with  both  hands,  and  gasped  hysterically. 
The  sky,  the  trees,  the  barren  ground,  whirled  above, 
around,  beneath  her.  She  staggered,  and  struck  against 
a  rough  pine-trunk.  A  frost-sharpened  splinter  pierced 
her  shawl,  and  buried  itself  in  her  upper  arm's  soft  flesh. 
She  moaned,  and  her  pale  lips  trembled  pathetically. 
Poor  little  white  bruised  arm  ;  how  round,  how  soft,  how 
fair  it  was.  How  piteous  that  such  young,  fair,  frail 
things  must  suffer.  She  pressed  her  lips  to  the  wounded 
place,  and  kissed  it  pitifully.  The  hurt  flesh  shuddered 
from  even  their  soft  touch.  In  a  flash  her  face  grew  hard 
and  bitter.  What  was  the  bruise  of  body  to  the  death- 
hurt  of  heart  and  soul  ?  She  was  glad  that  the  soft  flesh 
pricked  and  burned  and  shuddered.  O,  that  everyone, 
everything,  in  this  bad,  hard,  cruel  world,  might  suffer — 
suffer — suffer !  "  The  pain  of  the  world  !  "  Once,  she  had 
wept  over  the  words  ;  now  she  gloated  over  them.  They 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  183 

soothed  her,  eased  her,  made  her  laugh,  laugh,  laugh  ! 
The  wild  peal  startled  her.  She  clasped  her  hands  to  her 
ears,  and  crouched  down  on  the  frosty  ground,  racked 
with  strangling  sobs.  O  God  !  she  was  so  wicked  !  O 
God,  forgive  her !  O  God,  take  away  her  heart's  wild 
maddening  pain  ! 

When  she  reached  the  Ledge-gate  she  was  panting  and 
could  scarcely  drag  herself  to  the  door.  It  was  unlatched, 
and  she  pushed  it  back  and  fell  in  blindly.  Althea  was 
at  supper.  She  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  when  she  saw 
her  sister's  face.  Isolde  staggered  to  her  and  fell  weakly 
into  her  arms. 

A  glass  of  wine  revived  her.  Slowly  the  color  crept 
back  to  her  lips.  She  motioned  away  the  refilled  glass, 
and  sobbed  out  her  piteous  story.  Before  she  had 
finished  it  Althea  had  ordered  the  carriage  to  the  door. 

"  You  must  go  back,"  she  said  firmly.  "  To  yield  will 
be  to  conquer." 

Isolde  yielded. 

They  reached  thejiouse  just  as  the  party  in  the  dining- 
room  rose  from  the  table.  Althea  drew  her  sister  into  a 
sheltered  recess  of  the  brilliant  drawing-room.  The  two 
elder  women,  with  wine-brightened  eyes  and  wine-flushed 
faces,  still  rotated  about  their  host ;  but  his  eyes  were 
eagerly  following  the  third  woman,  a  pale,  proud,  beautiful 
young  creature,  who  turned  from  him  with  almost  inso- 
lent indifference,  and  sought  Isolde. 

"  Your  gown  is  quite  wet,"  she  said,  "  and  you  are 
shivering.  Have  you  been  out  ?  " 

Suddenly  a  look  of  pained  comprehension  flashed  into 
her  face. 

"We  frightened  you,"  she  said  in  an  undertone,  "and 
you  ran  away  from  us.  Your  sister  brought  you  back." 


181  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Isolde  did  not  answer.  The  girl  misunderstood  lier 
silence. 

"  You  need  not  shrink  from  me,"  she  said,  with  proud 
sadness.  "My  touch  will  not  pollute  you.  I  am  on  the 
brink,  yes  ;  but,  as  yet,  I  have  not  crossed  the  chasm  !  " 

Isolde  heard  the  words,  after  a  dull,  unconscious 
fashion,  but  she  failed  to  comprehend  them.  A  death- 
like languor  encompassed  hei%,  deadening  even  the  cruel 
pain  in  her  heart.  Magdalen  bent  to  her  pitifully. 

"  Slip  upstairs  !  "  she  said,  with  a  quick  glance  about 
her.  "  You  can  escape  unnoticed.  I  will  make  your 
excuses." 

When  the  draggled  train  had  disappeared  up  the  curve 
of  the  winding  stairway,  the  girl  turned  to  her  host. 

"  I  have  sent  your  wife  upstairs,"  she  said.  "  She  was 
looking  pale  and  tired.  She  left  her  excuses  with  me." 

He  fancied  that  she  sneered  as  she  spoke,  and  started 
toward  the  stairs  with  an  ugly  frown  on  his  face.  Mag- 
dalen recalled  him. 

"  Are  you  going  to  call  her  back  ?  "  she  asked,  reproach- 
fully, "and  prove  all  my  finesse  wasted?  To  be  frank,  I 
suggested  that  she  leave  us  to — her  husband.  I  " — with 
a  bewildering  upward  glance  of  her  beautiful  wine-brown 
eyes — "I  wanted  him  to  myself." 

Isolde  was  left  in  peace. 


CHAPTER 

FROM     FLAME     TO     ASHES. 

On  Monday  the  guests  departed.  Steele  accompanied 
them  to  Denver,  and  did  not  return  until  Tuesday,  when 
he  went  directly  from  the  station  to  the  bank.  There,  in 
the  late  afternoon,  Althea  called  upon  him.  He  was  not 
in  a  brotherly  mood,  but  this  obvious  fact,  Althea,  with 
sisterly  assurance,  disregarded.  She  did  not  protest,  as 
he  expected,  against  a  repetition  of  the  episode  of  the  pre- 
vious Saturday  evening.  On  the  contrary,  she  congratu- 
lated him  upon  his  certain  exemption  from  protest,  in  case 
of  such  repetition,  assuming  the  inevitability  of  Isolde's 
absence  from  the  scene  to  be  granted.  That  he  was  not 
insensible  to  the  covert  threat  of  her  specious  words,  his 
savage  scowl  betrayed.  Althea  met  the  scowl  with  a  smile, 
and  dismissing  the  delicate  subject,  introduced  another, 
this  time  a  personal  one.  He  listened  with  attention.  As 
she  concluded,  he  congratulated  her.  He  congratulated 
himself,  likewise.  The  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  which  he 
had  been  dreading  from  Isolde,  would  now  be  on  Isolde's 
side. 

He  entered  the  house  unnoticed,  and  surprised  her  at 
her  desk.  She  submitted  to  his  kiss  of  greeting  but  did 
not  respond  to  it.  As  she  was  about  to  speak  he  took  the 
initiative,  warned  by  her  face  that  he  could  not  afford  to 
yield  the  advantage  that  Althea's  confidence  had  given 
him. 


186  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Althea  has  been  here,"  be  asserted.  "  Did  sbe  tell 
you  anytbing  of  special  interest  ?  " 

"  Of  interest  to  me  ?  "  sbe  asked.     "  No." 

"  Of  interest  to  herself  and  George,  I  mean." 

"  No." 

He  was  pacing  the  little  study  with  restless  feet.  His 
bands  were  unsteady.  His  face  and  eyes  showed  traces  of 
dissipation. 

"  She  has  applied  for  a  divorce,"  he  said.  "George  does 
not  oppose  it.  In  fact  he  submits  most  gracefully,  and 
has  made  over  the  Ledge  to  Gay,  and  settled  a  snug  little 
sum  upon  Gay  and  Altbea,  jointly.  In  consequence,  things 
will  go  on  much  as  usual,  for  the  present  at  least ;  and 
the  divorce  will  be  a  strictly  private  one,  unknown  outside 
of  family  and  court.  There  will  be  no  scandal,  no  pub- 
licity. Althea  has  done  wisely,  as  usual ;  '  wisely,  and,' — 
though  you  will  not  admit  it — c  well.'  The  divorce  is  the 
best  thing  for  her,  under  the  circumstances." 

From  her  pale  lips  came  no  protest.  After  her  first 
irrepressible  start  of  surprise  she  had  betrayed  no  emo- 
tion. She  believed  that  she  felt  none.  Her  heart  seemed 
dead  within  her. 

"  Her  alleged  ground — fictitious,  of  course,"  he  contin- 
ued, "is  desertion.  She  is  a  hard  woman, — our  hand- 
some Althea  ;  yet  I  think  George  loves  her  still.  I  ven- 
ture to  assert  that,  sooner  or  later,  matters  between  them 
must  have  righted  themselves  in  orthodox  fashion,  but  for 
our  marriage." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  roused  herself  to  say. 

"  As  my  wife  you  have  opened  a  new  social  vista  to 
Althea.  She  has  a  quick  eye  for  the  main  chance,  and 
worships  wealth.  George's  moderate  means  and  lack  of 
ambition  have  always  galled  her.  I  suspect — it  is  only  a 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  187 

suspicion,  mind — that  she  has  sighted  a  golden  bait,  and 
means  to  nibble  at  it." 

"You  mean  that  she  will  marry  again  ?  " 

"  Not  necessarily.  I  mean  that  she  prefers  to  be  free 
to  marry  again." 

"  With  her  husband  alive  ?  " 

"  With  her  husband,  as  her  husband,  dead.  The  di- 
vorce is  the  funeral-rite  of  the  mariage-tie  ;  its  legal  seal 
the  clod  on  the  coffin.  The  corpse,  like  other  dead,  is  left 
to  the  graveyard  !  " 

She  looked  up  dizzily. 

"  '  To  have  and  to  hold  ' — '  for  better,  for  worse ' — '  till 
death  us  do  part ! '  What  do  the  words  mean,  Steele," 
she  cried,  "since  they  do  not  mean  what  they  say  !  " 

He  traced  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  with  his  foot,  in 
embarrassed  silence. 

"  I  must  go  to  Althea,"  she  said,  rising. 

He  held  her  back  gently,  but  firmly. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  must  not  go  to  Althea.  She  for- 
bids expostulation.  She  knows  that  to  hear  you,  would 
be  to  hear  what  she  could  not  forgive." 

"But  the  little  child,  Steele  !  the  little  child !  For  his 
sake  we  must  save  her." 

"  It  is  too  late  to  save  her.  You  force  me  to  tell  you 
what  I  hoped  to  conceal.  I  put  the  case  in  the  future  to 
break  it  more  gently  ;  in  truth,  it  is  of  the  past.  The 
divorce  was  granted  this  morning.  Hang  the  woman  !  I 
wish  she  would  make  her  own  confessions.  Long  ago 
she  asked  me  to  tell  you  ;  but  I  have  been  a  coward,  and 
spared  you !  " 

"  Spared  me  !  "  she  repeated,  bitterly.     "  Have  you  ?  " 

Her  significant  tone  incensed  him.  He  turned  upon 
her  almost  brutally. 


188  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Quit  that  firing  from  arnbush !  "  be  said.  "We  will 
have  it  out, '  face  to  face,  once  for  all.  You  refer,  of 
course,  to  the  little  affair  of  the  other  night.  That  it  was 
unpleasant  for  you,  I  acknowledge  :  that  it  was  the  insult 
you  chose  to  consider  it,  I  deny.  The  Rundell  crowd  is  a 
gay  one,  as  I  forewarned  you  ;  but  I  explained  that  I  could 
not  afford  to  offend  him,  and  you  should  have  helped  me 
out  of  my  difficulty — not  made  it  harder  for  me.  The 
women  are  not  your  style — God  forbid  !  I  admit,  even, 
that  they  are  slightly  off-color.  Nevertheless,  they  are  by 
no  means  what  you  think  them.  They  belong  to  a  fast 
set,  whose  ethics  you  do  not  understand.  Of  course,  I 
would  not  choose  them  for  your  associates.  Probably  you 
will  never  meet  them,  nor  any  like  them,  again.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  possible  that  such  society  must  occasion- 
ally be  forced  upon  you.  The  West  is  not  the  East.  The 
social  pace  is  faster  here :  the  social  rein  more  lax,  the 
social  field  wider.  If  the  society  I  move  in  is  distaste- 
ful to  you,  I  am  sorry  ;  but  you  should  have  thought 
of  that  before  you  entered  it.  Your  social  adaptabil- 
ity was  one  of  the  charms  which  first  attracted  me  to 
you.  Do  not  force  me  to  realize  that  it  was  a  spurious 
one." 

Her  pale  lips  made  no  answer,  but  bitter  tears  welled 
slowly  to  her  eyes.  Steele  and  Althea,  .her  two  nearest 
and  dearest,  seemed  going  from  her,  into  a  world  of  evil 
whose  paths  she  could  not  tread.  A  clicking  sound  roused 
her  from  her  sad  reverie.  As  she  looked  up,  her  husband 
dropped  over  her  shoulder  a  jeweller's  case,  in  which,  from 
a  bed  of  ruby  velvet,  flashed  dazzling  diamonds.  For  a 
moment  she  sat  in  silence,  gazing  blankly  at  the  glittering 
baubles.  Then  rising  with  calm,  proud  dignity,  she  shut 
the  case,  and  held  it  toward  him. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  189 

"  All  are  said  to  have  their  price,"  she  said,  "  but  mine 
is  higher  than  you  think.  These  do  not  cover  it." 

He  caught  the  jewels  from  her  hand,  and  hurled  them 
to  the  floor. 

"You  rank  yourself  too  high,"  he  sneered.  "As  a 
woman,  your  price  fluctuates  with  your  beauty.  Perhaps 
you  do  not  know  that  you  have  gone  off  damnably,  of 
late.  After  all,  you  are  quite  right.  Diamonds  would 
not  become  you.  They  are  fatal  to  beauty — in  its  wane." 

He  rang  the  bell  imperatively,  and  waited  in  sullen 
silence.  When  the  maid  appeared,  he  pointed  to  the 
jewels. 

"  Pick  those  up,  and  hand  them  to  Mrs.  Harrimau,"  he 
said. 

The  maid  obeyed  with  a  frightened  face. 

"  Th'  boss  was  in  one  o'  his  white  tantrums,"  she  con- 
fided a  few  minutes  later,  to  the  still  faithful  Jehu.  "  I 
was  that  flustered  as  I  nearways  dropped  'em,  arter 
a-picking  'em  up.  I  wouldn't  be  in  Mis'  Harriman's 
shoes,  not  far  all  th'  di'mants  in  Californy." 

"Di'mants  beant  ev'rythin',''  insinuated  Jehu,  hope- 
fully. 

"  No,  nor  husbands  beant,  nuther ! "  responded  the 
maid,  cruelly.  "  Di'mants  or  no  di'mants,  no  man's  tan- 
trums fur  me." 

In  the  meantime  Isolde,  who  had  accepted  the  case 
fi-om  the  maid  without  a  protest,  resolutely  held  it  to- 
ward her  husband,  when  they  were  again  alone.  For  a 
moment  he  hesitated.  Then,  with  a  taunting  smile  he 
took  it  from  her,  drawing  out  his  watch  at  the  same 
time. 

"Just  in  time  for  the  Denver  flyer,"  he  said,  as  he 
turned  away. 


190  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

She  saw  him  no  more  that  night. 

Bitter  days  ensued.  As  love  failed  her,  Isolde  turned 
for  consolation  to  her  art.  As  she  resumed  the  writing 
which  for  a  time  she  had  utterly  abandoned,  her  pen,  as  if 
impelled,  transcribed  the  story  of  her  heart.  Completed, 
it  was  a  long  poem  of  sustained  power,  a  noble  story  told 
in  noble  verse.  Such  a  poem  had  been  the  dream  of  her 
girlhood,  the  conception  of  her  earlier  womanhood  ;  but 
only  with  maturity  had  come  the  pain  and  sorrow  whose 
travail  gave  it  birth.  When  the  last  word  was  written, 
she  kissed  the  manuscript  with  rapturous  lips.  The  in- 
tuition had  come  to  her — the  sure  intuition  of  the  creator, 
that  the  creation  is  good.  . 

She  relinquished  her  pen  with  a  sigh  ;  half  of  regret, 
half  of  relief,  and  abandoned  herself  to  the  rapt  unspeak- 
able ecstasy  which  the  artist  alone  knows.  The  fire  of 
inspiration,  though  its  work  was  consummated,  had  not  yet 
flickered  out ;  and  the  spirit-flame  cast  over  the  material 
creation  the  transfiguring  glow  of  the  ideal  conception, 
which  not  till  calmer  hours  would  she  realize,  had  eluded 
birth.  Its  life  was  in  her  blood,  its  glow  in  her  heart,  its 
excitement  in  her  brain.  The  poem  flashed  before  her 
eyes  in  fitful  phrase  and  fragment — echoed  in  her  ears 
now  in  sonorous  periods  swelling  like  organ-harmonies, 
now  in  dainty  fancies,  lilting  like  fairy-songs.  In  uncon- 
scious, ecstatic  murmuring,  her  lips  reiterated  her  spirit's 
music.  Her  arm,  where  it  pressed  her  eyes,  was  wet  with 
rapturous  tears.  A  subtle  tremor  thrilled  her  from  head 
to  foot. 

Her  husband,  surprising  her  in  her  blissful  reverie, 
scrutinized  her  rapt  face  with  curious  eyes  that  followed 
her  as  she  shut  her  manuscript  in  her  desk.  He  had  re- 
marked her  unwonted  abstraction  and  absorption  of  late, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  191 

and  was  not  loath  to  possess  himself  of  the  secret  of  it. 
At  the  moment,  as  fate  would  have  it,  the  announcement 
of  a  visitor  called  her  from  the  room.  As  the  door  shut 
behind  her,  he  stepped  to  her  desk,  and  after  an  instant's 
hesitation,  raised  its  lid  and  took  out  the  written  pages. 
Then  he  lighted  a  cigar,  and  by  the  glow  of  the  open  fire, 
began  to  read.  For  an  hour  he  read  on  intently.  Then 
he  tossed  the  stump  of  his  cigar  into  the  flames. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  ejaculated. 

Flinging  the  manuscript  back  to  the  desk  he  paced  the 
little  room,  his  hands  folded  behind  him,  his  brow  fur- 
rowed with  deep  and  gloomy  thought.  Now  and  again 
he  smiled  bitterly.  Once  with  impatient  hand  he  dashed 
a  sudden  moisture  from  his  eyes.  As  Isolde  returned,  he 
pointed  to  the  desk  in  silence.  She  started  violently  as  the 
disordered  sheets  caught  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  reading  it,"  he  admitted,  "and  a 
lucky  thing,  too,  by  Jingo  !  Is  it  possible  that  you  intend 
to  publish  it  ?  You  are  mad  !  Do  you  realize  that  you 
have  analyzed  yourself,  me,  the  whole  spiritual  and  emo- 
tional history  of  our  marriage,  as  minutely  as  the  sur- 
geon dissects  a  naked  body  ?  If  you  enjoy  the  scalpel, 
I  do  not.  As  a  matter  of  common  decency  your  dissec- 
tion of  me,  at  least,  should  have  been  with  a  reserve." 

Without  a  word,  she  gathered  up  the  pages,  and  turned 
with  them  toward  the  door.  He  mistook  her  dazed 
silence  for  defiance. 

"  Have  you  understood  me  ?  "  he  asked,  interposing  as 
she  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

She  did  not  answer.  She  had  not  heeded,  scarcely 
heard  him.  His  anger,  which  had  been  slowly  kindling, 
flashed  into  sudden  flame. 

"  Possibly  you  will  understand  this,"  he  cried,  wrench- 


192  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

ing  the  manuscript  from  her  hand  ;  "  and  this,"  tear- 
ing it  leaf  by  leaf  ;  "  and  this!  "  showering  the  fragments 
into  the  glowing  grate.  "Let  this  end  the  damned  non- 
sense, for  good  and  all.  As  for  me,  I  am  sick  of  it." 

He  went  out,  slamming  the  door  behind  him.  She 
stood  where  he  had  left  her,  staring  blankly  into  the  open 
tire. 

A  mother  looks  upon  the  face  of  her  dead  child,  and 
smiles  ;  the  child  lives  still,  in  heaven.  A  lover  kisses  his 
dead  love,  and  whispers  between  his  sobs  that  love  is 
deathless,  eternal.  The  artist  turns  from  his  shattered 
work,  and  knows  that  the  past  was  vain,  that  the  future  is 
hopeless  ;  that  the  child  of  his  soul,  the  love  of  his  heart, 
the  dream  of  his  brain,  the  creation  of  his  hand,  is  dead, 
dead  forever ! 

Under  the  glowing  logs,  in  a  pall  of  pathetic  ashes,  lay 
the  shattered  vase  which  had  brimmed  with  her  life- 
blood.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  breast.  It  felt  chill, 
numb,  empty.  Without  stint,  without  reserve,  she  had 
spilled  its  sweet  life-store.  She  stretched  her  hand  to 
the  bright  flames.  Give  her  back,  O  give  her  back,  all 
they  had  taken  from  her  !  In  vain  the  prayer.  Not  one 
small  portion  of  her  golden  measure  should  be  restored 
to  her.  Gone — to  the  last  sweet  tittle,  gone  forever ! 

She  had  sunk  on  her  knees  by  the  hearth,  crouching 
lower  and  lower,  until  her  forehead  rested  on  the  gilded 
fender.  The  burned  sheets  rustled  in  the  grate  ;  the  soft 
sound  roused  her.  As  she  lifted  her  face,  a  scrap  of 
paper  fluttered  to  the  hearth.  In  trembling  hands  she 
caught  it  up,  and  pressed  a  passionate  kiss  upon  it.  Then 
with  eager  eyes  she  scanned  it.  Upon  its  curled  scorched 
surface  a  few  lines  still  were  legible.  As  she  read  them  a 
cry  of  pain  and  incredulity  escaped  her.  Re-reading 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  193 

them,  the  dawn  of  anguished  revelation  paled  upon  her 
face. 

*  "  Who  loveth  Love  must  break  the  bonds  of  Art ! 
Man  chafes  at  loving  a  divided  heart. 
Art  is  a  mistress  with  a  sovereign  will, 
Man's  heart  a  master — and  to  quite  fulfil 
The  stern  demands  of  either  is  a  strife 
Extending  e'en  beyond  one  woman's  life. 
Love  brooks  no  rival ;  half-souled  gifts  derides, 
And,  scornful,  shuns  the  shrine  where  Art  abides. 
Let  woman  choose  the  fleeting  bubble  Fame, 
And  bid  good -by  to  cheeks  with  Love  aflame  ; 
Or  let  her  choose  Love's  leaping  lambent  fires, 
And  put  away  Ambition's  wild  desires. 
No  middle  course  is  left ;  man's  heart  demands 
Complete  surrender  at  a  woman's  hands."     *  J.  C.  H. 

The  twilight  deepened  to  dusk.  The  spent  flames 
flickered.  Through  the  grate-bars  a  shower  of  chill  gray 
ashes  filtered  to  the  hearth.  She  did  not  see  them, 
though  her  blank  gaze  seemed  to  follow  them.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  vision  of  her  life's  mistake. 

"  Who  loveth  Love  must  break  the  bonds  of  Art !  " 

How  and  why  had  she  written  the  fateful  words — she, 
who  had  loved  Love  well,  yet  borne  Art's  bonds  unbroken? 
The  prayer  of  her  bridal-days,  of  her  wife-heart,  re- 
curred to  her.  To  be  "a  good  wife — only  to  be  a  good 
wife,"  had  been  its  burden.  Had  that  yearning  prayer 
been  born  of  her  own  unrecognized  suspicion  that  her 
wifely  surrender  of  heart  and  life  was  not  entire  and  un- 
reserved ? 

"  Art  is  a  mistress  with  a  sovereign  will, 
Man's  heart  a  master — and  to  quite  fulfil 
The  stern  demands  of  either  is  a  strife 
Extending  e'en  beyond  one  woman's  life." 


194  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Her  own  pen  had  written  the  too  true  words,  yet  in  the 
field  full  narrow  for  single  strife,  she  had  waged  the  two- 
fold one,  loyal  to  neither  sovereign,  since  failing  both. 
And  the  cost  of  her  failure — 

"  Love  brooks  no  rival ;  half  souled  gifts  derides, 
Arid,  scornful,  shuns  the  shrine  where  Art  abides." 

Though  Art  should  yield  the  shrine,  Love  must  still 
scorn  it.  For  her  whole-souled  gift,  it  was  too  late,  too 
late  !  With  bowed  face  she  wept  bitterly. 

The  mistake,  the  failure  of  her  marrried  life  confronted 
her  with  accusing,  vengeful  face.  Her  husband  had 
changed  from  good  to  bad,  from  bad  to  worse.  She  had 
believed  this  change  her  misfortune  ;  now  she  realized 
that  it  was,  in  part,  her  fault  Her  life,  which  should 
have  been  the  complement  of  his,  had  denied,  eluded, 
resisted  him.  He  had  hungered  for  bread,  and  she — by 
his  own  lips  convicted — had  held  him  a  stone.  His 
thirsting  soul  had  turned  to  her,  and  the  draught  which 
she  alone  could  hold,  whose  fulness  alone  could  satisfy 
him,  she  had  poured  in  stinted  measure  which  left  him 
a-thirst  still. 

"  Let  woman  choose  the  fleeting  bubble  Fame 
And  bid  good-by  to  cheeks  with  Love  aflame, 
Or  let  her  choose  Love's  leaping  lambent  fires, 
And  put  away  Ambition's  wild  desires,         . 
No  middle  course  is  left " 

she  had  written,  yet  striven  to  pursue  the  middle 
course.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  turned  to  her  desk. 
The  hearth  was  littered  with  the  ashes  of  her  dead  Art- 
di-eam.  Impulsively,  yet  resolutely,  beside  these  she 
emptied  her  desk's  entire  store.  Eeams  of  manuscript, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  195 

prose  and  verse ;  two  small  volumes  of  published  song ; 
letters  from  press  and  public  ;  stories  and  poems  in  print 
and:  type ;  columns  of  criticisms ;  heaps  of  fugitive 
notices  ;  budgets  of  reviews  ;  souvenirs  of  pen-won  friends 
from  far  and  near  ;  her  gold,  pearl-handled  pens ;  her 
scented  blotters  ;  all  the  dainty,  luxurious  trifles  with 
which  her  art  had  been  surrounded,  she  turned  out  to- 
gether. Then  she  looked  down  upon  her  work.  Her 
eyes  were  tearful,  but  her  lips  inexorable. 

"  Man's  heart  demands 
Complete  surrender  at  a  woman's  hands," 

she  murmured.  "  O  my  love,  my  love,  the  surrrender  is 
complete,  at  last !.  God  grant  it  may  not  be  too  late  !  " 

Then,  filling  and  refilling  her  hands  swiftly  as  she  could 
empty  them,  she  cast  the  whole  precious  hoard  into  the 
devouring  fire. 

"  Your  Muse  ?  "  questioned  Dr.  Keene,  that  evening. 

"My  Muse,"  she  said,  "has  fled  me  on  wings  of  fire. 
Bid  her  God-speed,  Doctor.  Her  flight,  if  late,  is  eternal !" 

"  You  mean ?  "  he  queried. 

"  I  mean  that  you  were  right  when  you  warned  me  that 
the  laurels  of  fame  are  for  man's  brow,  the  rose  of  love 
for  the  woman's  ;  when  you  told  me  to  make  my  life  an 
altar  to  my  womanhood,  my  Muse  its  holocaust. 

"  Who  loveth  Love  must  break  the  bonds  of  Art ! 

"  And,  O  Doctor,  Doctor !  not  because  I  break  the 
bonds,  but  because  I  break  them  too  late — with  them,  '  for 
love  of  love,'  my  heart  is  breaking !  " 

The  doctor  was  too  wise  to  quell  her  passionate  sobs, 
but  he  lingered  till  they  abated.  Then  he  went  sadly  out. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Poor  little  fledgling  song-bird,"  he  sighed.  "  So  the 
eagle  has  not  spared  her." 

At  the  gate  he  halted,  looking  back  to  the  splendid 
house  with  misty  eyes. 

"She  will  be  mute  while  her  heart  is  breaking,"  he 
murmured,  "but,"  with  a  triumphant  smile  flashing 
through  his  tears,  "  when  her  heart  is  broken,  how  she 
will  sing,  how  she  will  sing ! " 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

A  PHANTOM  GUEST. 

As  time  went  on,  Isolde's  dread  lest  her  sacrifice  be 
made  too  late,  deepened  to  conviction.  If  Steele  was  con- 
scious that  she  had  chosen 

" .     .     .     Love's  leaping  lambent  fires, 
And  put  away  Ambition's  wild  desires," 

he  made  no  sign.  Even  as  he  had  derided  the  half-souled 
gift  of  her  divided  heart,  so  he  now  rejected  her  whole- 
souled  offering — her  complete  surrender  made  at  such 
sore  cost.  His  feverish  pursuit  of  fortune  by  day,  of 
pleasure  by  night,  absorbed  him.  In  the  past  he  had 
been  only  defiant :  now  he  was  reckless.  Newfield  began 
to  remark  that  the  young  banker  was  "  going  it,"  feminine 
tongues  speaking  the  words  indulgently,  however,  until 
masculine  ones  reiterated  them  with  a  wistful  cadence 
which  betrayed  the  temptation  of  the  owners  thereof  to 
"go  it"  with  him.  Whereat  indulgent  femininity  grew 
suddenly  rigid,  and  relentlessly  nipped  such  masculine 
aspii-ations  in  their  bud. 

The  snows  were  still  white  on  the  hills,  the  wind  fierce 
through  the  tree-tops,  when  "  th'  big  house  gev  a  party." 
In  the  columns  of  the  local  journal,  the  festivity  was  de- 
scribed as  the  grandest  social  event  of  the  season.  In 
reality  it  was  not  a  social  event  at  all,  but  a  business  affair, 
pure  and  simple,  as  Virgiuie  Sharpe,  spinster,  knew. 


198  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  A  motley  assemblage  !  "  she  declaimed  to  her  chance 
companion  of  the  moment,  her  keen  eyes  making  an  in- 
telligent survey  of  the  crowded  rooms.  "  'Motley'  is  the 
newspaper  adjective,  isn't  it,  for  such  incongruous  collec- 
tions of  human  specimens  ?  Do  sit  down  in  this  corner, 
while  I  tell  you  who's  who,  free  of  charge.  You  look  like 
a  performing  lizard,  wriggling  about  in  that  serpentine 
manner." 

The  addressed  was  a  slender,  lithe  young  man,  arrayed 
in  the  conventional  evening  garb  of  polite  society  ;  the  ad- 
dresser a  maiden  of  uncertain  years,  whose  mission  it  was 
to  teach  the  idea  of  youthful  Newfield  how  to  shoot.  She 
was  a  tall,  angular,  aggressive  specimen  of  femininity, 
with  a  plain,  prematurely-faded  face  whose  high  wrinkled 
forehead  was  stiffly  framed  in  unlovely  store-crimps.  Her 
most  telling  feature  was  her  tongue,  which,  while  turned 
upon  himself,  the  newspaper  man  failed  to  admire.  Later, 
however,  he  acknowledged  it  an  invaluable  acquaintance 
for  one  of  his  profession. 

As  Miss  Sharpe  had  said,  the  social  assemblage  was  in- 
deed a  motley  one ;  not  only  Newfield  proper,  but  its  out- 
lying mine,  ranch,  and  farm  districts,  being  represent- 
ed. Rough-handed,  high-booted  miners,  writhing  in  the 
misery  of  starched  linen  ;  clumsy  young  farmers,  uncouth- 
ly  clad  in  ready-made  clothes  purchased  for  the  occasion ; 
ruddy-faced  cattle-men,  gorgeous  in  satin-ties  of  resplen- 
dent hues,  and  with  folded  sombreros  protruding  from 
their  pockets,  circled  about  with  their  respective  wives 
and  sisters  and  sweethearts,  side  by  side  with  the  con- 
ventionally-attired partners  of  the  Newfield  belles. 

The  newspaper-man  looked  about  him  in  amazement. 

"  Don't  understand  it,  eh  ? "  queried  Miss  Sharpe. 
"  Well,  /  do.  Every  native  in  the  room  is  a  Harrimau 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  109 

Bank  depositor.  What's  the  logical  deduction?  Give  it 
up,  eh  ?  Take  the  head  of  the  class,  do.  I  give  you  the 
medal  for  stupidity.  Bless  your  muddled  brains,  what 
other  than  that  the  Harriman  Bank  is  the  only  sesame  to 
the  Harriman  house  ?  Now,  the  Harriman  house  means 
Denver  folk,  Omaha  folk,  Chicago  folk,  Eastern  folk.  It 
means  the  great  moneyed  magnates  (pronounced  mag- 
nets), of  the  coast ;  it  means  English  ranchmen  of  title  ;  it 
means  railroad-kings,  politicians,  speculators  of  all  classes; 
it  means,  in  short,  Society !  Perhaps  you  think  this 
primitive  region  does  not  care  for  the  capital  S  ?  There's 
where  you're  out.  Every  paterfamilias  within  a  hundred 
miles  will  be  a  Harriman  depositor  by  this  day  month. 
The  women  will  work  that,  the  ambitious  daughters 
and  the  matchmaking  mas.  And  Steele  Harriman  knows 
it.  Every  fool  here  looks  upon  this  flare-out  as  a  reckless 
extravagance.  I  tell  you  it's  a  big  investment." 

The  newspaper-man  began  to  enjoy  himself. 

"Doesn't  Mrs.  Harriman  look  just  lovely?"  exclaimed 
Miss  Sharpe,  whose  own  costume  consisted  of  a  scant 
black  silk,  freckled  in  patches  by  dowdy  knots  of  brown 
ribbon.  "  Those  tan  shoes  do  look  so  stylish.  If  they 
have  such  in  Denver,  'remember  me  when  them  you  see.' 
I  wear  sevens." 

"Shall  I  make  a  foot-note  of  it?" 

"  A  bank-note,  if  you  like." 

The  newspaper-man  evidently  did  not  like.  Miss  Sharpe 
considerately  changed  the  subject. 

"That  Sphinx  of  a  woman  in  black  velvet,  helping  to 
do  the  honors,"  she  said,  "  is  Althea  Rounds,  Mrs.  Hani- 
man's  sister.  She  made  the  match — not  but  what  Barkis 
was  willin'  enough,  but  Peggotty  wasn't  She  was  the 
shyest,  most  skrinking  little  creature  I  ever  saw.  To 


200  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

marry  her  was  like  tearing  up  a  white  rose  by  the  roots, 
and  that's  what  Althea  Rounds  and  Steele  Harriman  did 
between  them.  And  George  Rounds  knows  it." 

"  George  Rounds  ?  " 

"  Althea's  absent,  always  absent,  husband.  She  caught 
him  like  a  fish  on  a  hook,  but  even  she  failed  to  land 
him.  She's  got  the  tarnalest  nature  ever  woman  had,  and 
he  keeps  the  length  of  the  line  between  them.  When 
he  heard  of  Steele  Harriman's  attentions,  however,  he 
swooped  up  to  the  Ledge  like  a  shark  ;  but  the  Sphinx 
lied  in  the  most  bare-faced  manner,  swearing  by  Ananias 
and  Sapphira  that  the  report  was  false.  When  he  found 
her  out,  there  was  a  frightful  scene  ;  I  had  it  from  one  of 
my  dunces,  whose  first  cousin's  sweetheart  has  a  brother 
married  to  a  sister-in-law  of  Mrs.  Rounds'  hired  girl.  He 
hasn't  been  back  since,  and  my  opinion  is  that  he's  gone 
for  good,  this  time.  See  her  glare  at  me.  I  believe  she 
has  heard  every  word.  She's  the  type  of  woman  whose 
every  hair  is  an  ear-trumpet,  and  every  eyelash  a  telescope. 
She'll  hear  more  than  that  from  me  before  I  marry. 
There's  Harriman  p&re,  pairing  off  the  wall-flowers.  Don't 
punish  the  pun." 

The  newspaper-man  revived. 

"I  shall,  next  time,"  he  said.  "How  does  he  like  the 
bride?" 

"  O,  he's  devoted  to  her.  But  then,  he'd  be  devoted  to 
an  alligator.  He's  the  dearest  old  fool  the  Lord  ever 
made,  and  He's  seen  fit  to  make  a  good  many  of  the  sex. 
Sits  down  in  that  feather-weight  bank,  and  beams  on  'my 
son  Steele  '  till  the  snow  melts  off  the  sidewalk.  The  twin- 
brother,  Jack,  shot  six  years  ago  in  a  backwoods  gambling 

h ahem  !  hole,  was  a  wild  fellow,  but  worth  a  dozen 

of  this  one.  O,  you  like  him,  of  course  ! — all  greenhorns 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  201 

do.  But  he  doesn't  wear.  He's  like  a  professional 
beauty,  skin-deep  and  good  for  one  season  only." 

"  Who  are  those — er " 

"  Gushing  young  things  with  the  hair  and  complexions  ? 

"  'Red  an'  yeller, 
Ketch  a  feller,' 

but  they  haven't  caught  one  yet.  They  are  known  as  the 
Miss  Hunters — husband  and  hyphen  understood.  That 
'divinely  tall '  woman  in  dull  jet  following  is  Mrs.  Anna- 
bel Rorke,  relict  of  our  late  mayor,  and  besieged  by  his 
would-be  successors.  Handsome  eyes,  and  knows  how  to 
use  them.  '  Samivel,  bevare  of  the  vidders.'  Miss  Bread- 
aud-Butter  beside  her  is  her  Yankee  niece.  Doesn't  look 
as  if  she  knew  beans,  does  she  ?  But  as  she  comes  from 
Boston,  she's  open  to  suspicion.  We  make  a  point  of 
being  polite  to  her,  in  case  she  is  writing  us  up.  In  all 
probability  she  is  writing  us  down,  in  consequence. 
Politic  politeness  is  one  of  the  things  which  even  the 
blind  see  through." 

"The little  Yankee  does  not  look  blind  to  me,"  said  the 
newspaper-man,  scrutinizing  the  girl  somewhat  keenly. 

"O  no  ! "  admitted  Miss  Sharpe,  "she's only  near-sight- 
ed. Sees  as  far  and  only  as  far  as  others  choose  she  shall 
see.  Sooner  or  later,  of  course,  she  will  put  on  glasses, 
but  they  will  be  rose-colored.  She's  that  sort  of  a  sim- 
pleton." 

"I  like  '  that  sort  of  a  simpleton.' " 

"  What  man  doesn't  ?  The  rose-color  haloes  him  as  the 
god,  crowns  him  as  the  king,  his  own  fancy  paints  him. 
Every  man  scorns  to  be  only  a  man  ;  he  must  be  more — 
or  less.  A  god,  till  the  halo  pales ;  a  king,  till  the  crown 
crumbles.  After — a  brute  !  " 


202  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"I  say,  Miss  Sharpe,"  protested  the  attacked,  "  draw  it 
mild,  will  you  !  " 

"  Mild  as  a  lamb,"  she  acquiesced.  "  Humanity  de- 
mands it.  I  forgot  that  you  were  alone  and  unpro- 
tected." 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  entrance.  Miss  Sharpe  read- 
justed her  spectacles. 

"Enter  the  guy  of  the  town,"  she  announced,  "Miss 
Caroline  Linnett,  in  love  with  Peter  Jones,  a  noodle 
rhymester  who  signs  himself  the  '  Pike's  Peak  Poet.'  Look 
at  her  dandelion-and-green  get-up.  Didn't  think  she  had 
the  taste  to  match  her  complexion.  He's  pouring  forth 
like  a  cat  on  a  fence.  Listen  as  they  pass." 

"  Such  a  poem  as  you  gave  us  last  evening  !  "  Caro- 
line was  murmuring.  "  I  was  faint — faint  with  vener- 
ation !  " 

"  My  lute  !  "  sobbed  the  poet,  "  trembling  and  vibrat- 
ing under  the  touch  of  the  master-hand  !  My  receptive 
one,  open  to  the  poet's  influence  even  as  the — the — as  the 
lips  are  for  the  ruddy  wine " 

Caroline  disapproved. 

"  I  belong  to  the  '  Young  Ladies'  Temperance  Socie- 
ty,' "  she  said,  reprovingly. 

"Ah!"  faltered  the  poet,  somewhat  disconcerted. 
Then,  with  sudden  inspired  fervor  :  "  /  do  not. 

"It  has  been  said,"  he  went  on,  "that  my  verses  are 
'  like  wine,  effervescent,  delirious,  and  suggestive  of  the 
empty  bottle  behind  them.'  The  Denver  Satirist  said 
that.  I  thought  it  a  very  sweet  compliment." 

Mrs.  Linnett,  a  faded,  affected,  beribboned  and  be- 
crimped  little  woman,  chaperoning  the  gushing  Caroline 
from  the  rear,  leaned  forward,  and  tapped  the  poet-cheek 
with  her  fan. 


A  SOW   OF  ESAU.  203 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet  !  "  she  said,  archly. 

"  O,  ma !  "  simpered  Caroline,  in  coy  confusion. 

"Here  comes  an  engaged  couple,"  resumed  Miss 
Sharpe  ;  "Jack  Holbrook,  who  once  fancied  himself  in  love 
with  Mrs.  Harrirnan,  and  Hanna  Agnew,  whose  vestal- 
wings  have  just  fluttered  from  a  convent  nest.  She 
reminds  me  of  Camoen's  Catarina,  with  her 

"  '  Sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen  ! ' 

That  handsome  man  with  the  twinkling  blue  eyes  is 
Nevilles,  the  contractor,  noted  for  his  witty  tongue  and 
kind  heart,  as  well  as  for  his  millions.  He's  poking  fun 
now  at  that  portly  and  placid  dowager  by  his  side,  whom 
he  calls  the  '  Mother  of  her  Country  ; '  she  having  done 
her  patriotic  duty,  maternally,  to  the  tune  of  the  thirteen 
original  States,  since  the  matrimonial  administration  be- 
gan. In  the  interests  of  Social  Economy,  her  husband 
should  pension  her  off.  Such  women  belong  on  the  retired 
list  of  the  Knights  of  Labor." 

Here  Miss  Sharpe  bowed  to  a  bright-eyed  man  who 
carried  his  intellectual  head  with  an  air  of  distinction. 

"  His  type  ? "  questioned  her  companion,  with  in- 
terest. 

"  Newspaper-type  !  But  it's  not  strange  you  don't 
recognize  it.  He's  a  capital  where  you're  only  an  interro- 
gation-point. I  fear  that  he'll  degenerate  into  a  printers' 
devil,  however.  '  Follow  your  nose,'  says  the  adage,  and 
his  nose  is  crooked  !  " 

Rejoicing  in  the  possession  of  a  purely  Grecian  feature, 
the  newspaper-man  looked  complacent. 

"  What  is  mine  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Flat !  "  responded  Miss  Sharpe.     "  Flat  as  a  flounder." 


204  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

f 
The  Grecian-featured  subsided. 

"Here  comes  the  religious  element,"  she  continued, 
briskly  ;  "  the  Romanist  priest  side  by  side  with  our  min- 
ister Druce.  I  call  that  edifying.  See  those  Hunter  girls 
smirking  Druceward.  They  might  as  well  set  their  caps 
at  the  man  in  the  moon.  That  distinguished  looking  man 
following  is  Governor  Rushing,  of  Nebraska.  If  you 
haven't  to  write  him  up  as  president,  yet, 'I'll  lose  my 
crimps  ! " 

With  the  instinct  of  the  turning  worm,  the  newspaper- 
man started  up.  He  had  endured  much,  but  to  search 
for  those  unlovely  hirsute  appendages  just  as  supper  was 
announced,  he  felt  to  be  beyond  even  a  journalist's  cour- 
tesy. 

"  I'll  write  him  up  as  anything,"  he  cried  ;  "  as  the  Rus- 
sian Czar,  if  you  like  !  I'll  swear  to  it,  Miss  Sharpe,  if 
you  will  only  cling  to  the  crimps  till  after  supper." 

"  What,"  snapped  Miss  Sharpe,  as  she  rose,  "  will  a  man 
never  forget  ?  " 

"  His  prayers  !  "  asserted  the  newspaper-man,  piously. 

"  Scat !  There's  only  one  S  in  masculine,  and  that  one 
stands  not  for  soul,  but  stomach." 

"  Really,  Miss  Sharpe,  your  opinion  of  man  is " 

"  That  the  one  good  man  is  the  woman !  No,  don't 
faint !  No  more  before  supper." 

The  Denver  orchestra  had  been,  up  to  the  present  mo- 
ment, the  crowning  feature  of  the  evening  ;  but  now,  as 
Farmer  Jenkins  appropriately  put  it,  "  th'  supper  took  th' 
cake  ! "  There  was  a  general  exclamation  of  admiration 
as  the  dining-room  portieres  were  drawn  back,  and  the 
guests  ushered  into  the  spacious  room,  decorated  with 
holly  and  fir-trees,  upon  whose  artificially  frosted  branches 
twinkled  hundreds  of  tinted  lights.  The  long  tables  fill- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  205 

ing  the  room  were  dazzling  with  costly  silver  and  scin- 
tillating glass.  The  glossy  green  of  the  holly-leaves 
tangled  with  crimson  berries  presented  an  artistic  con- 
trast to  the  snow-white  damask  over  which  they  trailed  in 
graceful  loops  and  lines.  White-gloved  waiters  flitted  to 
and  fro,  dispensing  sparkling  wines  and  dainty  viands. 
The  popping  of  corks  sounded  like  staccato  notes  above 
the  subdued  strains  of  the  unseen  orchestra. 

The  festive  sounds  floated  through  the  windows,  out 
iuto  the  cold  and  darkness,  down  the  path,  beyond  the 
gate,  along  the  highway,  to  the  spot  where,  under  a  clump 
of  ice-coated  pines,  crouched  Freshet  Sal,  her  sullen  eyes 
fixed  fiercely  upon  the  splendid  house.  Inside  were 
warmth  and  light  and  mirth  and  feasting !  and  she  was 
shut  outside — out  in  the  bitter  cold,  the  lonely  darkness 
— she  and  the  little  child  clasped  to  her  mother-breast. 
The  bitter  contrast  maddened  her.  She  rose  from  her 
crouching  posture,  staggering  heavily  on  her  cramped, 
chilled  limbs,  and  dragged  herself  to  the  gate.  It  was 
open,  and  she  passed  through  it.  The  light  streamed 
from  the  windows  of  the  deserted  drawing-room.  As  she 
pressed  her  face  against  the  pane,  gazing  hungrily  upon 
the  beauty  and  luxury  within,  a  burst  of  music  floated 
to  her,  as  to  the  Peri,  wistful  at  the  gates,  the  angel- 
strains  from  Paradise !  A  fierce  look  flashed  into  her 
eyes.  She  turned  from  the  window,  and  with  a  stealthy 
glance  about  her,  darted  to  the  door.  It  was  ajar,  but  a 
servant  was  stationed  inside  it  She  dashed  it  open  and 
sped  like  a  phantom  past  him  into  the  room  beyond. 

The  feast  was  at  its  height.  Wines  were  flowing  among 
the  elder,  mottoes  snapping,  and  nuts  cracking  for  philo- 
penas  among  the  younger  guests.  The  room  was  ring- 
ing with  jest  and  laughter.  The  orchestra  whispered  a 


206  A,  SON  OF  ESAU. 

waltz-tune.  As  the  host,  amidst  a  tumult  of  applause, 
rose  to  propose  a  toast,  a  scuffle  sounded  in  the  hall, 
followed  by  the  noisy  protests  of  excited  servants. 
Althea,  whose  seat  commanded  a  view  of  the  door,  gave 
one  quick  glance  toward  it,  and  then  with  a  warning  call 
to  Steele,  which  he  did  not  hear,  rose  hurriedly,  white  to 
the  lips,  and  stepped  forward.  One  glance,  however, 
showed  her  that  she  was  too  late.  She  turned  back  and 
swept  down  the  room,  making  an  imperative  signal  to 
Isolde  as  she  passed  her. 

Isolde,  surprised  and  alarmed  at  Althea's  pallid  face, 
made  a  hasty  excuse,  and  followed  her  sister  through  the 
rear  door,  just  as  Freshet  Sal,  with  Waif  in  her  arms, 
appeared  on  the  upper  threshold. 

Steele's  glass  was  lifted  for  the  toast.  As  all  eyes 
looked  past  him  his  own  followed  their  gaze  over  his 
shoulder  to  the  figure  hesitating  in  the  doorway.  The 
glass  fell  from  his  hand  and  shivered  into  atoms  ;  the 
wine  trickled  in  a  bright  stream  over  the  floor.  A  breath- 
less hush  fell  upon  the  room. 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other,  eyes  defying 
eyes,  man's  and  woman's.  Then,  slowly,  miserably,  the 
woman's  fell.  Not  in  fear,  though  in  his  eyes  as  they 
turned  on  Waif  she  read  the  threat  which  for  four  bitter 
years  had  kept  her  subservient  to  him.  In  her  mad 
mood  she  no  longer  feared,  she  defied,  him.  Not  while 
there  was  might  in  her  mother-arms,  not  while  there  was 
warmth  in  her  mother-heart,  not  while  there  was  life  in 
her  mother-breast,  should  that  threat  be  fulfilled.  She 
quailed  before  him  not  in  fear,  but  in  despair.  As  he  had 
turned  toward  her,  she  had  seen  not  him  alone,  but  like- 
wise the  splendid  room  with  its  superb  appointments,  its 
beautiful  decorations,  its  tinted  lights,  its  glittering 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  207 

tables.  From  the  shimmering  silks,  the  flashing  jewels 
of  the  womeut  before  her,  her  eyes  reverted  to  her  own 
uncouth  attire.  The  scent  of  flowers  was  on  the  air,  the 
sound  of  soft  string-music.  She  thought  of  the  dark, 
chill,  lonely  road,  and  of  the  rough  pine-trunks  against 
which  she  had  crouched,  with  the  wailing  winds  about 
her.  They  were  her  portion — these  were  his.  What 
could  she  do  against  him  ?  Without  a  word  she  turned, 
and  disappeared  as  silently  as  she  had  come,  vanishing 
like  a  wraith  in  the  outer  darkness. 

The  banker  turned  back  to  his  guests.  A  crystal 
goblet  stood  by  his  plate.  He  seized  it,  and  calling 
for  brandy,  filled  the  goblet  half-way  to  its  shining 
brim. 

"  Our  Phantom  Guest,"  he  said,  and  drained  the  toast 
at  a  draught. 

But  as  he  set  down  his  empty  glass  an  oath  broke 
from  him.  He  had  drunk  the  toast,  alone. 

"I  wish,"  ruminated  old  John  Harriman,  breaking  the 
constrained  silence,  "  as  that  there  poor  crazy  creetur'  'd 
let  th'  little  gal  stop  fur  a  bit  o'  cake." 

Isolde  returned  to  her  guests,  in  smiling  unconscious- 
ness of  the  little  episode. 

"  Althea  was  taken  suddenly  faint,"  she  explained,  "  but 
she  recovered  directly.  Strange,  was  it  not — such  a  sud- 
den seizure  ?  " 

"  Althea,"  remarked  the  newspaper-man  in  an  aside  to 
Miss  Sharpe,  "is  evidently  a  woman  of  resources." 

"  Ahem  !  "  coughed  feminine  Newfield,  behind  its  fan. 

"  Is  this  little  episode  to  figure  in  your  columns  ? " 
asked  Miss  Sharpe,  accepting  the  journalist's  arm,  as  they 
rose  from  the  table.  "  Because  if  it  is,  at  the  cost  of  a 


208  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

year's  salary,  I  bargain,  here  and  now,  for  the  entire 
edition." 

He  did  not  answer  her  lightly,  but  turned  upon  her  an 
earnest,  proud  young  face. 

"  The  popular  belief  concerning  us  reporters,  is,"  he 
said,  "  that  we  are  heartless,  conscienceless,  honorless.  I 
think  that  if  you  knew  us  more  intimately,  Miss  Sharpe, 
you  would  find  us,  as  a  class,  both  men  and  gentlemen." 

To  which  noblest  of  titles,  Miss  Sharpe,  thereafter, 
acknowledged  the  reporter's  right. 

When  the  last  guest  had  gone  his  way,  old  John  Hnrri- 
man  rested  loving  hands  on  his  son's  broad  shoulders. 

"  Good-night,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "  It  was  beyutif  ul — 
beyutiful.  Don't  ye  go  worritin'  'Soldy,  tellin'  her  o'  that 
there  poor  crazy  creetur',  ez  didn't  put  no  one  out  a  mite, 
not  a  mite.  I  wonder  if — if  she'd  give  up  th'  little  gal  ? 
My  old  arms  aches  ter  hold  her.  Some'ow,  she  'minded 
me,  wi'  her  blue  eyes  a-smilin*  under  her  yaller  hair,  o' 
my  own  little  lad,  before  he  grow'd  up,  an'  died.  If  she'd 
give  up  th'  little  gal,  would  ye  let  'Soldy  take  her,  fur  my 
sake,  Steele  ?  I'd  like  ter  see  a  little  face  in  th'  old  rooms 
before  I  die — an'  she  'minded  me — o'  my  own  little  lad — 
before  he  grow'd  up — an'  died." 

Althea  watched  the  old  man  up  the  stairs,  and  then 
glided  to  Steele's  side. 

"Possibly,"  she  sneered,  "since  your  punishment  has 
overtaken  you,  you  may  at  last  realize  the  enormity  of  your 
senseless  folly  in  not  fulfilling  your  promise  to  me,  and 
ridding  yourself  forever  of  the  woman  before  marrying 
Isolde.  For  her  sake,  for  your  own  sake,  why  did  you 
not  keep  your  word  ?  " 

"Curse  it!  "he  cried,  "I  did  my  best.     She  stayed 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  209 

against  her  will,  before  my  marriage.  To  stay  against 
mine,  after  it,  has  been  her  revenge." 

"Ah,  and  for  how  long,  may  I  ask,  is  Isolde  to  be  in- 
sulted by  '  her  revenge  ? '  To-morrow  she  must  be  told 
of  this  evening's  scandalous  episode.  What  shall  you  say 
to  her  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  he  answered,  surlily. 

"But  those  women  will  tell  her." 

"Let  them  go  to  the  devil." 

"  With  all  my  heart ;  but  the  devil  himself  cannot  stop 
their  tongues.  The  time  is  come  when  this  matter  must 
be  faced.  I  tell  you  plainly  that  Isolde  must  not,  shall 
not,  be  subjected  to  another  such  insult.  Of  course,  I 
know  that  you  told  her  a  lie  before  your  marriage.  You 
must  now  tell  her  the  truth.'' 

"Not  by  a  long  shot." 

"  Then  I  will." 

"  You  !  "  he  sneered.  "  You  tell  her  the  truth  !  Sup- 
pose you  wait  until  you  know  it.  Understand,  once  for 
all,  that  the  scandal  I  have  allowed  you  to  believe,  like  the 
fine  tale  I  told  her,  is  a  d d  lie  ! " 

"A  lie  !  "  repeated  Althea.  "  A  lie  !  In  Heaven's  name, 
then,  what  is  the  truth? " 

"  What,  indeed  !  "  he  jeered.  "  Put  this  in  your  bed, 
and  He  on  it,  my  lady — /  defy  you  to  discover  the  truth  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SWEET   CHARITY. 

A  few  days  subsequent  to  the  big  house  festivity  was 
held  the  monthly  meeting  of  the  "  Newfield  Sewing  and 
Social  Club."  The  sewing  was  for  the  heathen,  and  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  finely  hemstitched  and  embroidered 
handkerchiefs,  and  decorative  tidies.  The  social  appendix 
to  the  sewing-hour  was  one  of  refreshment  for  mind  and 
body ;  a  light  collation  seasoning  a  still  lighter  debate 
upon  any  subject  of  social  interest  suggested  by  the 
president,  Mrs.  Rorke,  a  cultured  and  brilliant  woman  of 
social  tact  and  charm.  Althea  was,  as  usual,  absent  from 
tine  meeting.  Sewing-societies  were  not  among  her  social 
dissipations.  Nor  was  Isolde  a  faithful  or  diligent  mem- 
ber. As  a  needlewoman  she  did  not  shine,  and  her 
monthly  check  toward  the  fund  of  the  society  usually 
represented  her.  Occasionally,  however,  she  appeared 
in  time  for  the  after-hour,  rather  enjoying  feminine 
Newfield's  social  discussions. 

The  scene  of  the  present  meeting  was  the  Kummins' 
farm,  famous  as  the  most  royally  hospitable  house  in  Col- 
orado. In  fact,  the  Kummins'  name  was  appropriately 
and  gratefully  parodied  by  their  social  debtors  into  the 
"  Gome-ins."  The  farm,  the  richest  and  most  extensive  of 
the  neighborhood,  was  situated  some  miles  out  of  town, 
and  in  consideration  of  the  long  ride  preceding  and  fol- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  211 

lowing  the  meeting,  the  usual  light  collation  was  dispensed 
with,  and  the  society  invited,  instead,  to  partake  of  a  sub- 
stantial repast ;  which  invitation,  needless  to  say,  the  so- 
ciety, to  a  woman,  accepted.  Mrs.  Kummins'  teas  were 
justly  famous,  and  as  the  afternoon  waned,  and  the  hostess' 
frequent  excursions  to  the  kitchen  were  succeeded  by  an 
influx  of  sundry  appetizing  odors,  feminine  Newfield 
waxed  even  more  vivacious  than  usual.  The  talk,  of 
course,  turned  upon  the  Harrimau  party,  which  conver- 
sational windfall  bade  fair  to  be  a  joy  forever  to  that  town 
of  gossips. 

"  I  will  say,"  italicized  Milly  Hunter,  stabbing  her 
emery  by  way  of  emphasis,  "  that  if  I  was  Mrs.  Harriman, 
there'd  be  no  '  phantom  guests '  at  my  parties,  husband 
or  no  husband  !  " 

"  No  husband,"  echoed  Cilly,  mournfully. 

"  'If '  you  were  Mrs.  Harriman,  Milly  ?  "  laughed  Miss 
Sharpe,  polishing  her  thimble.  " '  What  an  "  if "  is 
there,  my  countrywomen  ! ' ' 

"  Tut,  tut,  child  !  "  protested  Mrs.  Hunter,  smiling  in- 
dulgently, nevertheless,  at  her  dashing  daughter.  "  Young 
girls  ain't  expected  to  talk  about  sech  things." 

"  Young  girls  ! "  sniffed  Mrs.  Holbrook,  from  a  corner. 
"  You  an'  me'd  better  be  gittin'  shy  and  bashful,  Mis' 
Gibson.  That  there  Milly's  thirty,  if  she's  a  day  !  " 

Mrs.  Gibson,  being  a  remarkably  beautiful  woman, 
could  afford  to  be  charitable  to  her  less  favored  sisters. 
She  shrugged  her  handsome  shoulders,  smiled  with  her 
handsome  lips,  and  flashed  an  intelligent  glance  from  her 
handsome  eyes,  in  silence. 

Mrs.  Linnett,  plying  an  aristocratic  scent  -  bottle  in 
preference  to  the  plebeian  needle,  took  up  the  conversa- 
tional ball. 


212  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"For  my  part,"  she  said,  "I  consider  the  affair  a 
scandal.  It  makes  me  faint,  ladies,  faint,  to  realize  that 
such  an  one  is  suffered  in  our  midst !  " 

"Law  me  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Holbrook  ;  "  and  they  do 
say  that  the  way  that  Caroline  carried  on " 

Mrs.  Korke,  passing  at  the  moment,  gently  tapped  her 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  If  we  listen  to  all  '  they '  say,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hol- 
brook," she  remonstrated,  "we  shall  have  no  time  left  for 
our  prayers." 

Mrs.  Tompson,  an  insignificant  little  woman,  whose 
single  talent  was  for  housework,  pursued  the  subject. 

"  Did  you  mind  the  supper  ?  "  she  inquired,  generally. 
"  Not  a  thing  on  the  table  but  was  bough  ten.  For  a 
young  housekeeper,  Mis'  Harrirnan  is  the  shif'lessest !  " 

"I'll  up  an'  own  as  I  was  shocked  at  the  superflu'ty  of 
wine  on  Mis'  Harriman's  table,"  volunteered  Miss  Prim, 
an  ancient  spinster.  "  A  glass  of  sister  Prude's  good 
home-brewed,  or  bottled  berry,  now — or,  on  extry  occa- 
sions, a  sip  of  Californy  grape,  I  say  naught  against  ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  champagne  runnin'  like  water,  not  to 
speak  of  stronger,  as  no  Christian  lady,  not  to  say  an  un- 
married one,  could  so  much  as  name,  /draw  the  line." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  more  exemplary  to  have  drawn  the 
lip?"  asked  Miss  Sharpe,  upon  whom  poor  old  Miss 
Prim's  sly  enjoyment  of  the  Harriman  champagne  had 
not  been  wasted. 

Miss  Prim  scorned  to  appropriate  this  address  ;  and  as 
no  one  was  magnanimous  enough  to  appropriate  it  for 
her,  Miss  Sharpe  had  the  floor. 

"  I  have  sent  Mrs.  Harriman  some  tracts,"  announced 
Mrs.  Prude,  a  tall,  prim,  stern  woman,  from  whose  side 
was  suspended  a  small  black  ever-open  bag  of  religious 


A  SON  OF  ESAff.  213 

pamphlets.     "  'Death  to  the  Drinker,'  '  Kum  and  Roman- 
ism,' 'Bottled  Blood,'  'The  Corked  Curse,'  and  others. 
But  as  she  is  sowing,  so  she  must  reap  ;  and  I  fear  her 
harvest  is  close  at  hand.     They  do  say  as  Steele  Harri-  . 
man  is  beginning  to  drink  like  a  fish." 

"Have  you  held  a  thanksgiving  meeting  over  him?" 
queried  Miss  Sharpe.  "  To  drink  like  a  fish,  assuming 
that  fish  do  drink,  is,  of  course,  to  drink  only  water.  His 
conversion  must  be  recent.  When  last  I  saw  him,  he 
drank  brandy,  like  a  man." 

Mrs.  Prude  turned  purple. 

"  I  hate  old  maids  !  "  she  retorted. 

Mrs.  Rorke  tapped  the  presidential  table  with  her 
jewelled  thimble. 

"  Ladies,  ladies ! "  she  cried,  "  we  are  working  for 
chanty.  Let  the  golden  virtue  that  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins  extend  to  our  tongues  as  well  as  our  fingers." 

At  this  juncture,  the  Harrirnan  sleigh  dashed  up  to  the 
door.  Isolde's  face,  against  its  background  of  dark  vel- 
vet, looked  pale  and  delicate. 

"  What  a  sweet  face  she  has,"  remarked  bright-eyed 
Mrs.  Yonge,  with  the  cordial  admiration  of  one  pretty 
woman  for  another. 

"  'Beauty,'"  quoted  Hilly  Hunter,  disparagingly,  '"is 
but  a  disease ' " 

"  Which,  as  you  and  I  prove  conclusively,  Milly,"  in- 
terrupted Miss  Sharpe,  "  is  not  contagious." 

Isolde  entered  the  room,  hand  in  hand  with  her  cordial 
hostess. 

"You're  jest  in  time  for  supper,  dear,"  Mrs.  Kummins 
was  assuring  her  ;  "an"  you  look  as  if  a  cup  of  hot  tea 
wouldn't  hurt  you.  If  you'll  walk  right  into  the  eatin'- 
rooin  now,  ladies,  you'll  find  the  table  ready." 


214  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

There  was  a  brisk  folding-up  of  unfinished  articles,  a 
putting  of  thimbles  into  pockets,  a  shaking  of  gowns,  and 
blowing-off  of  threads,  followed  by  a  general  uprising  of 
the  society. 

"  Go  up-stairs  and  lie  down  on  my  bed,  dear,"  the 
hostess  whispered  to  Isolde.  "  You  look  sorter  tuckered 
out,  and  can  have  a  tray  up  there  jest  as  well  as  not. 
Daughter  Kitty'll  be  only  too  happy  to  wait  on  you." 

She  looked  distressed  as  Isolde  smilingly  declined  the 
kindly  offer.  An  unfriendly  element  was  rampant  in  the 
society,  and  she  feared  lest  one  malicious  tongue  or 
another  should  wound  the  young  wife  with  a  covert 
stab. 

As  the  society  seated  itself,  there  was  a  flutter 
throughout  it  of  pleasant  anticipation.  Even  Mrs.  Tomp- 
son's  sour  face  attempted  a  smile,  as  her  eyes  swept 
greedily  over  the  lavish  table.  A  stew  of  canned  oysters 
— inevitable  prelude  of  Western  feasts — steamed  in  white 
bowls  at  each  plate.  Great  dishes  set  at  intervals  down 
the  length  of  the  table  were  piled  with  plump  and  tender 
chickens,  fried  to  a  turn,  and  covered  with  thick  cream- 
sauce.  Tureens  smoking  with  a  certain  luscious  rich 
dark  mixture,  known  as  "  Mis'  Kummins'  gravy,"  waited 
for  the  farm-grown  potatoes  bursting  snowily  from  their 
brown  jackets.  There  were  plates  heaped  with  cream- 
biscuit  light  as  foam  between  their  amber  crusts  ;  pretty 
prints  of  freshly  churned  butter  ;  round  white  cheeses, 
with  pitchers  of  yellow  cream  beside  them  ;  pies,  cakes, 
and  preserves ;  apples  and  nuts,  maple  sugar,  and  pop- 
corn ;  and  jugs  of  foaming  cider  flanking  the  coffee  and 
tea-pots  on  either  side. 

"  Sister  Kummins,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Prude,  "  you  do 
beat  all !  I  often  say  if  Newfield  has  one  housekeeper 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  215 

more  'n  another  to  be  jest  sinful  proud  of,  that  one  is 
Sister  Kummins." 

"O,  now,  if  it  comes  to  that,  Mis'  Prude,"  returned 
Mrs.  Kummins,  politely,  "  I  surmise  as  some  folks  whose 
names  won't  be  mentioned  is  second  to  none  !  " 

"  Well,"  admitted  Mrs.  Prude,  modestly,  "  I  won't  say 
as  I  don't  do  my  best,  according  to  my  lights.  But  as  for 
such  biscuits  as  these,  or  such  gravy — I  up  and  own 
as  I'm  beat.  Your  worst  enemy  can't  but  do  you  the 
justice  to  admit,  Sister  Kummins,  as  you're  a  good 
cook." 

"Are  you  a  good  cook,  Miss  Hunter  ?"  asked  Isolde, 
laughingly  acknowledging  her  own  deficiencies. 

"  We  flatter  ourselves,  Cilly  and  I,  that  we  do  exceed- 
ingly well,  for  our  ages,"  admitted  Milly,  ingenuously. 

"  For  our  ages,"  accented  Cilly. 

Miss  Sharpe,  overhearing,  could  not  resist  a  retort. 

"  Do  let  us  shake  hands,"  she  cried,  vivaciously.  "  That 
is  my  case,  precisely.  I  do  very  well  for  my  age.  When 
we  were  younger  we  were,  of  course,  more  ambitious  to 
excel." 

Mrs.  Rorke  signalled  for  silence. 

"Ladies,"  she  said,  "  the  subject  of  our  discussion  to- 
day is  a  social  one.  It  is,  '  Society,  and  its  Require- 
ments.' " 

"  Law  me  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Holbrook,  "  where 's  the 
dictionary  ?  " 

"  Sew-ciety's  quite  an  appropriate  subject  for  the  occa- 
sion," giggled  Milly  Hunter. 

"I  thought  it  was  Show-ciety,"  ventured  Cilly,  for  once 
deserting  her  sister's  words  in  favor  of  her  idea. 

"It's  not  Slow-ciety,  anyway,  where  you  two  are," 
muttered  Miss  Sharpe,  in  audible  soliloquy. 


216  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Sister  Prim  took  advantage  of  Miss  Sharpe's  inatten- 
tion, and  refilled  her  glass  with  cider. 

"  The  fatal  fault  of  American  society,  I  think,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Drumond,  the  pretty  and  clever  wife  of  the 
college-president,  "  is,  that  '  social  selection  '  is  its  motto, 
rather  than  '  social  equality.'  It  demands  too  much." 

"And  I  think  that  it  demands  too  little,"  differed 
Isolde.  "  Cultured,  gifted,  beautiful  humanity  is  the 
highest  humanity,  and  it  yearns  the  highest  to  satisfy  it 
Neither  chance  of  birth,  nor  accident  of  name ;  wealth, 
nor  display,  fitful  fashion  nor  conventional  etiquette, 
can  satisfy  with  their  material  husks  the  humanity 
elevated  through  the  refined  flesh  to  a  spiritual  altitude 
whose  requirements  are 

'  Tlie  highest  and  most  human,  too.'r 

"  And  these  '  high  and  human  '  requirements  are  what, 
Mrs.  Harriman  ?  "  asked  Miss  Sharpe,  interested. 

"  They  are,  as  I  see  them,"  replied  Isolde,  with  timid 
earnestness,  "  the  soul  for  which  only  God  is  high  enough, 
and  the  heart  for  which  the  lowest  man  is  not  too  low. 
They  are  truth  and  honor,  faith  and  charity,  strength  and 
purity  ;  magnanimity,  sacrifice,  love.  They  are  reverence, 
sympathy,  brotherhood.  They  are  high  thoughts,  tender 
words,  noble  ambitions,  heroic  deeds.  They  are  all  the 
Divine  that  is  in  the  human,  and  all  the  human  that  does 
not  sully  the  Divine." 

"But,  Mrs.  Harriman,"  objected  Mrs.  Linnett,  with  un- 
pleasant significance,  "surely  you  must  realize  that  such 
requirements  as  you  suggest  would  utterly  demolish 
society." 

"  God  forbid  ! "  remonstrated  Isolde.     "  I  hold  a  firm 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  217 

conviction,  Mrs.  Linnett,  that  men  and  women  are  much 
better  than  the  man  and  woman  think  them." 

"Possibly  if  your  social  charity  were  less  quixotic," 
retorted  Mrs.  Linnett,  impulsively,  "  there  would  be  less 
barefaced  imposition  upon  it, — '  a  consummation  devoutly 
to  be  wished '  if  '  honor  and  purity '  be  indeed  require- 
ments of  good  society,  as  you  say." 

"  O  Ma  !  "  gasped  Caroline. 

The  gauntlet  had  been  thrown.  In  the  ensuing  hush, 
all  eyes  were  turned  upon  Isolde.  For  an  instant  she 
looked  bewildered.  Then,  alternately  flushing  and  paling, 
she  spoke. 

" I  do  not  quite  understand,"  she  said.  "Will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  explain  your  significant  words,  Mrs. 
Linuett?" 

"  O,  no  particular  significance  was  intended,"  fluttered 
Mrs.  Linnett,  intimidated  by  Caroline's  hysterical  re- 
proaches, and  already  regretting  her  rash  attack. 

Mrs.  Prude  disapproved. 

"Sister  Linnett,"  she  said,  "let  them  as  the  cap  fits, 
put  it  on." 

Isolde  rose. 

"I  insist,"  she  said,  "  that  you  speak  clearly." 

"  Haven't  they  told  you  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Prude,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  Nothing  has  been  told  me — nothing !  What  is  there 
to  tell?" 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  consternation. 

"  They're  a  fine  pair — Althea  Rounds  and  Steele  Harri- 
man,"  muttered  Mrs.  Prude,  under  her  breath. 

Mrs.  Rorke  left  her  seat,  and  stepped  to  Isolde's 
side. 

''This  is  a  great  tempest  in  a  very  small  teapot,  Mrs. 


218  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Harriman,"  she  said,  "  and  it  is  a  disgrace,  a  scandal,  that 
you  should  be  insulted  by  it.  The  simple  fact  is,  that 
while  you  were  absent  from  the  supper-room,  on  the  night 
of  your  charming  entertainment — and  for  the  pleasure  you 
so  kindly  gave  us  you  are  indeed  most  gratefully  repaid  ! 
— that  poor  crazed  creature  called  'Freshet  Sal,'  attracted 
by  the  music  and  lights,  made  her  way  into  the  house,  and 
surprised  us  by  her  appearance  in  the  room.  We  had 
scarcely  discovered  her  when  she  disappeared,  and  that  is 
the  whole  story.  I  beg  leave  to  add,  however,  that  as  pres- 
ident of  this  most  charitable  society,  I  resign.  Its  charity 
is  a  mockery.  Therefore  the  excuse  for  the  existence  of 
the  society  is  at  an  end." 

Her  resignation  was  not  accepted  without  many  pro- 
tests. Mrs.  Rorke  was  a  woman  eminently  fitted  for  social 
leadership,  and  under  her  tactful  rule  the  society  had 
seen  its  halcyon  days.  Reproachful  glances  were  darted 
at  Mrs.  Linnett,  who  began  a  nervous  apology,  interrupted, 
however,  by  Isolde's  resolute  voice. 

"You  say,"  she  said,  "that  the  woman  Sal  is  crazy. 
Thank  you  for  your  kindly  championship,  dear  Mrs. 
Rorke — but  you  mistake.  Freshet  Sal  is  as  sane  as  you 
are,  as  I  am  !  " 

This  statement  was  a  surprise.  What  would  she  say 
next  ?  The  expectant  society  held  its  breath. 

"It  is  late,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "to  offer  you  an 
apology  for  the  very  unpleasant  ordeal  to  which,  as 
my  guests,  you  were  subjected.  Nevertheless,  I  beg 
that  you  will  accept  it.  You  may  feel  that  a  full  ex- 
planation is  due  you.  I  regret  to  say  that  I  cannot 
offer  you  one.  In  doing  so,  a  sacred  trust  reposed  in 
me  by  my  husband  before  our  marriage,  would  be  be- 
trayed." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  219 

Mrs.  Prude  coughed  significantly.  Isolde  turned  upon 
her. 

"There  are  many  of  you,"  she  said,  "who  are  devoted 
church-members,  fruitful  workers  in  the  vineyard,  loyal 
sheep  of  the  Good  Shepherd's  fold.  Of  such,  at  least,  I 
may  ask  in  firm  faith  that  I  shall  not  be  denied,  charity — 
not  for  myself,  but  for  those  from  whom  Mrs.  Linnett's 
words  prove  that  it  has  been  withdrawn." 

There  was  no  response.  The  prevailing  sentiment  was 
that  charity  had  been  stretched  to  its  uttermost  limit,  in 
favor  of  Steele  Harriman.  Isolde  realized  that  her  appeal 
had  been  in  vain.  They  were  doubting  Thomases,  who 
must  see,  to  believe.  Impulsively,  she  raised  her  hand 
toward  heaven. 

"I  swear  to  you,"  she  said,  "  that  your  suspicions  are 
unjust.  The  innocent  is  suffering  nobly  and  generously, 
if  quixotically,  for  the  guilty.  How  could  I  endure  it, 
were  it  as  you  think?  Do  you  believe  me  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Do  you  trust  me  ?  " 

A  few  kept  silence.  The  greater  number  murmured 
a  shamed  affirmative.  She  inclined  her  head,  grate- 
fully. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said  ;  then  with  a  word  of  apology, 
she  left  the  room. 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  took  Mrs.  Kummins' 
hand  at  the  door. 

"  You  can  never  pardon  me  for  having  spoiled  your 
charming  tea  by  such  a  scene,"  she  said,  "but  you  must 
have  seen  that  it  was  forced  upon  me." 

Warm-hearted  Mrs.  Kummins  was  weeping  into  the 
fluted  edge  of  her  company-apron. 

"  You're  a  blessed  angel,"  she  sobbed,  lowering  the 
apron  to  kiss  her,  "  an'  them  tarnal  women  shall  never 


220  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

darken  my  doors  again.  Charity,  indeed !  No  more 
sech  charity  at  rny  table  !  " 

When  she  returned  to  her  guests,  she  listened  eagerly 
for  the  general  verdict. 

"  Some  cock-an'-bull  story  that  scamp  of  a  Steele  Hani- 
man  made  up  for  that  little  fool  to  swallow  for  gospel- 
truth,"  Mrs.  Prude  was  saying. 

"  She  is  actually  goose  enough  to  believe  in — her  hus- 
band !  "  laughed  Milly  Hunter. 

"Her  husband,"  acknowledged  Cilly,  with  envious 
emphasis. 

"I'll  never  be  invited  to  another  Harriman  party," 
sobbed  Caroline  Linnett,  hysterically. 

Mrs.  Liunett,  in  repentant  tears  and  silence,  timidly 
proffered  her  salts. 

An  hour  later,  when  the  last  guest  had  taken  her  de- 
parture, and  the  dishes  had  been  piled  up  for  washing, 
Mrs.  Kummins  went  to  the  society  basket  and  emptied 
its  contents  upon  the  table. 

"Thirty  women,  and  an  afternoon's  sewing,"  she  said. 
"  Result,  two  highfalutin  aprons,  seven  crazy-quilt  patches, 
ten  half-hemmed  handkerchiefs,  three  bibs,  and  a  half- 
dozen  folderol  tidies." 

"The  heathen  will  appreciate  the  tidies,"  remarked 
Kitty. 

"Fifteen  chickens,  ninety  biscuit,  sixteen  quarts  of 
cream,  and  everything  else  in  proportion,"  reckoned  Mrs. 
Kummins,  junior — a  pretty,  dark-eyed  bride.  "  Mother 
Kummins,  charity  don't  pay." 

Gentle  Mrs.  Kummins,  for  once  exasperated,  pushed 
aside  the  astonished  kitchen-maid,  and  vigorously  attacked 
the  dishes. 

"  Charity  !  "  she  exclaimed.      "  Full  stomicks  an'  wag- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU:  221 

gin'  tongues  an'  bleedin'  hearts — that's  what  comes  of 
charity  !  I  vum  an'  swanny,  Elizabeth  Jones  Kummius, 
as  they've  had  their  last  charity-supper  in  this  here 
house  ! " 

"  Amen  !  "  sighed  tired  Elizabeth. 

"Till  next  time,  Ma !  "  laughed  Kitty. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AT     BENEDICTION. 

Isolde's  mind  was  in  a  whirl  during  the  long  homeward 
ride.  Had  she  done  well  or  ill — said  too  much  or  too 
little  ?  Would  Steele  be  enraged  with  her,  or  would  he 
realize  the  necessity  of  the  action  she  had  taken  ?  She 
felt  a  nervous  dread  of  meeting  him,  born  not  of  fear,  but 
of  a  premonition  that  more  than  the  mere  question  of  his 
approval  or  disapproval  of  her  words  was  at  stake.  Now 
that  it  was  too  late  she  realized  the  mistake  she  had  made 
in  not  insisting  before  her  marriage  that  the  secret  whis- 
pered to  her  under  the  moonlit  pines  on  the  night  of  the 
dance  in  Jenkins'  barn,  should  be  made  public.  In  her 
innocence  and  inexperience  she  had  not  foreseen  the  sus- 
picion to  which  the  scene  of  that  night  must  give  birth  in 
the  minds,  if  not  upon  the  lips,  of  all  who  had  witnessed 
it.  Her  own  wifely  dignity,  her  husband's  honor,  she 
now  realized  were  the  bitter  cost  of  her  mistake.  She 
had  hoped  to  reach  her  room  unnoticed,  but  Steele,  from 
the  library  ringing  with  men's  voices,  caught  the  sound 
of  the  sleigh-bells  and  hastened  to  the  door  to  meet  her. 

"  Where  the  deuce  have  you  been  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Run- 
dell  has  been  here,  and  has  taken  your  absence  none  too 
pleasantly.  Thinks  you  are  turning  the  cold  shoulder  on 
him,  or  some  such  bosh.  Kingsley  and  Randal  are  here 
for  the  nierht.  Get  into  a  decent  rier  and  come  down  at 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  223 

once.  I  can't  afford  to  offend  the  crowd,  bear  that  in 
mind,  wise  little  woman." 

Her  voice  was  low,  but  resolute,  as  she  answered. 

"  I  have  seen  your  friends  for  the  last  time,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  slept  my  last  night  under  your  roof,  unless  you 
promise  me,  swear  to  me,  at  once  to  make  public  the  true 
story  of  '  Freshet  Sal ! ' " 

With  an  oath  strangled  behind  his  clenched  teeth,  he 
drew  her  into  the  empty  drawing-room,  under  the  blaze 
of  the  great  chandelier. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  scanning  her  face 
with  defiant  eyes. 

"I  attended  a  society-meeting  held  at  the  Kummins* 
farm  this  afternoon,  and  was  insulted  there — publicly 
taken  to  task  for  the  scandal  given  by  the  mysterious  re- 
lationship existing  between  you  and  the  woman  Sal.  A 
reply  was  necessary.  I  did  not  betray  your  trust,  but  I 
confessed  that  you  had  reposed  one  in  me.  I  swore  that 
their  suspicion  was  false  ;  that  you,  the  innocent,  were 
nobly  suffering  for  the  guilty.  And  you  have  been  noble, 
Steele,  though  mistaken.  The  nobility  is  yours  alone, 
while  I  share  your  mistake.  In  my  girlish  innocence 
and  folly  I  encouraged  you  in  the  quixotic  course  which 
has  brought  us  to  this  shame.  You  cannot  reproach  me 
more  bitterly  than  I  reproach  myself.  But  our  mistake 
is  not  irredeemable.  I  have  avowed  your  innocence — 
you  have  only  to  corroborate  me  by  publishing  the 
truth." 

"  I  refuse  !  "  he  said. 

"  Steele  !  "  she  implored,  "  for  your  own  sake,  for  my 
sake,  for  our  child's " 

"I  refuse  !  "  he  repeated.  "  But  you — you,  I  suppose, 
will  betray  me.  What  a  fool  I  was,  to  trust  a  woman." 


224  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

To  escape  her  scornful  eyes,  he  took  a  turn  up  the 
room,  but  her  scornful  voice  followed  him. 

"  I  will  not  betray  you,"  she  said.  "Not  women,  but 
men,  are  the  betrayers.  I  shall  only — appeal  to  the 
woman." 

As  he  wheeled  about,  a  blast  of  cold  air  struck  him. 
The  parted  portieres  were  still  stirring.  Past  them, 
swiftly,  noiselessly,  Isolde  had  sped. 

He  dashed  to  the  hall- door  ajar  and  swinging  in  the 
draught,  and  flung  it  open. 

"  Come  back  !  "  he  called  authoritatively.  "  Come 
back  !  " 

The  echo  of  his  words  answered  him  ;  their  echo  only. 

From  the  direction  of  the  library  came  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps.  He  slammed  the  outer  door  just 
as  his  guests,  the  worse  for  his  hospitality,  joined  him. 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  thought  you'd  eloped  with  the  funds  ! " 
laughed  Kingsley. 

"  Or  w-with  the  fair,"  stuttered  Kandal,  with  an 
amatory  leer. 

"  I  was  taking  a  look  at  the  night,"  he  said,  leading  the 
way  back  to  the  library.  "  Its  deucedly  cold.  A  stiff 
pick-me-up  will  be  in  season.  I  say,  boys,  we  haven't 
had  a  spree  in  a  month  of  Sundays.  Suppose  we  make  a 
night  of  it  ?  " 

"L-let's  make  it  a  w-week,"  suggested  Randal,  whose 
potations  had  gone  to  his  head. 

He  seated  them  at  a  card-table,  plied  them  with  fresh 
liquors  and  cigars,  and  then,  with  a  muttered  excuse,  left 
them.  A  moment  later,  having  given  a  hasty  order  for 
the  sleigh  to  follow  him,  he  was  striding  through  the 
darkness  toward  the  Freshet  Cabin. 

Over  the  scene  brooded  the  luminous  darkness  peculiar 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  225 

to  the  rare-aired  winter  night.  There  was  only  a  sugges- 
tion of  moonlight,  but  myriad  stars  frescoed  in  gold 
relief  the  high  blue  dome  of  heaven.  The  air  was  chill 
and  sharp ;  the  boughs  of  the  leafless  cottonwoods 
creaked  frostily  in  the  wind.  A  light  fall  of  snow  was 
frozen  underfoot.  From  the  Freshet  sounded  the  roar  of 
swollen  waters  breaking  against  their  shores  of  jagged 
ice.  For  one  breathless  moment  he  halted,  listening  in- 
tently. Had  he  heard  a  sudden  splash  in  the  distance 
— a  woman's  cry,  strangled  by  the  death-cold  waters? 
What  if,  crazed  by  her  trouble  as  trouble  had  been  known 
to  craze  women  in  her  emotional  condition — already  she 
was  sleeping  beneath  that  death-cold  tide  ? 

Isolde,  meanwhile,  heedless  of  cold  and  weakness,  was 
pressing  on  at  a  reckless  pace  toward  Freshet  Sal's  cabin. 
Suddenly  a  deathly  chill  and  faintness  surged  over  her  ; 
her  breast  was  racked  with  every  panting  breath.  As  she 
paused  and  looked  about  her  dizzily,  a  light  shone  out 
from  a  little  chui'ch  on  her  right,  beckoning  to  her  like  a 
friendly  hand.  She  staggered  toward  it  blindly  ;  her 
hands,  as  they  grasped  the  porch-posts,  were  weak  and 
nerveless.  Their  hold  relaxed,  and  she  sunk  prostrate 
upon  the  frosty  steps. 

An  instant  of  surrender,  then  she  forced  open  the  white 
lids  fluttering  heavily  over  her  sightless  eyes.  If  she  were 
dying,  she  could  not,  would  not  die  without  one  prayer. 
Dying  ?  A  sharp  pang  stabbed  her  heart.  Of  a  sudden, 
life,  even  with  all  its  pain  and  problems,  was  sweet.  Die, 
and  never  know  the  fold  of  baby-arms  about  her ;  never  feel 
the  flutter  of  baby-hands,  the  warmth  of  baby-lips  upon  her 
breast  ?  She  would  not  die,  she  would  not.  She  struggled 
to  her  feet  with  desperate  resoluteness,  and  dragged  her- 
self into  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  empty  church. 


226  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

She  was  aroused  from  her  swoon  by  the  sound  of  solemn 
music,  and  by  a  pungent,  spicy,  sweet,  pervading  scent. 
The  church  was  all  alight,  and  its  body  filled  with  kneel- 
ing worshippers.  Before  the  altar  knelt  the  vestmented 
priest,  surrounded  by  white-robed  acolytes,  veiled  in  the 
incense-smoke.  Aloft,  just  above  the  gilt-doored  Taber- 
nacle, surrounded  by  tiers  of  shimmering  waxen  lights,  a 
golden  star  was  shining.  The  lights  struck  its  chased 
rays,  and  radiated  from  them  ;  within  it,  exposed  for 
adoration,  shone  the  White  Lamb  of  the  Bloodless 
Sacrifice — the  Sacred  Host. 

The  choir  was  singing  the  beautiful  Tantum  Ergo.  The 
celebrant's  head  was  bowed  in  worship.  The  censers 
swayed  on.  From  the  kneeling  congregation  sounded 
fitful  murmurs  of  articulate  prayer.  The  altar-lights 
flickered  across  the  rail,  glancing  like  a  passing  blessing, 
here  on  a  rapt,  uplifted  face  ;  there  on  a  prostrate  form 
and  lowered  head.  From  her  shadowed  corner,  hidden 
under  the  projection  of  the  organ-loft,  Isolde  looked. 
The  scene  was  no  new  one  to  her  ;  such  an  one  had  been  a 
familiar  feature  of  her  girlhood's  peaceful,  happy  convent- 
days.  The  altar-bell  tinkled.  The  golden  star  with  its 
white  Host-heart  was  lifted  in  Divine  benediction.  She 
sunk  on  her  knees,  her  face  bowed  in  her  hands.  The 
crowd  passed  out.  The  lights  were  one  by  one  extin- 
guished. At  last,  the  one  red  lamp  of  perpetual  vigil 
burned  alone.  On  the  porch  of  the  darkened  church  she 
hesitated.  To  the  Freshet  cabin,  or  back  to  the  home 
from  which,  on  passionate  impulse,  she  had  fled  ?  Toward 
the  cabin  she  turned,  at  last,  as  one  impelled  ;  but  calmly. 
The  peace  of  Christ's  benediction  was  in  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   STAIN   OF   THE   MIRE. 

The  church  stood  midway  between  the  Ledge  and 
Freshet  crossroads.  Steele  strode  past  it  with  no  suspi- 
cion that  his  wife  was  within.  The  uncurtained  window 
of  the  cabin  showed  him  a  background  of  ruddy  firelight, 
against  which  Waif  was  outlined,  straining  from  Sal's 
arms  as  she  held  transparent  hands  to  the  bright  pine- 
sparks  snapping  fitfully  toward  her.  He  flung  open  the 
door  without  knocking.  As  it  shut  behind  him  he  leaned 
against  it  almost  weakly.  Isolde  was  not  here.  Where 
was  she  ? 

"  Put  down  the  child,"  he  said,  as  Sal  turned  to  him. 
"I  have  serious  news  for  you." 

"  'Ant  to  pway  my  pwayer,"  wailed  Waif,  thinking  to 
gain  a  moment  of  grace  from  threatened  bed-time. 

Without  a  word  Sal  drew  a  chair  toward  the  fire, 
and  fastened  her  in  it.  Short  as  the  interval  was,  it 
afforded  the  man  an  opportunity  to  concentrate  his 
scattered  thoughts.  He  realized,  of  a  sudden,  that  Isolde's 
absence  gave  him  an  advantage  which  might  prove 
his  salvation.  If  he  could  but  induce  Sal  to  leave  New- 
field  before  Isolde  could  see  her,  his  secret  would  still 
be  safe. 

"  My  wife  is  not  here  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  suspiciously 
into  the  shadowy  inner  room. 


228  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Intense  surprise  flashed  into  Sal's  face,  but  she  answered 
only  by  a  sullen  shake  of  her  head. 

"  She  has  not  been  here  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  But  she  will  be,  and  the  meeting  will  not  be  a  plea- 
sant one  for  you,  SaL  I  am  come  to  save  you  from  it. 
She  has  discovered — the  truth." 

The  words  were  a  lie,  but  the  woman  did  not  know  it. 
She  started,  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  fear 
and  defiance,  and  sped  between  him  and  Waif.  He 
took  a  quick  step  toward  her,  speaking  in  a  low  but  im- 
passioned voice. 

"The  truth,"  he  said.  "You  know  the  penalty,  Sal. 
But  I  give  you  one  chance  to  escape  it — go,  this  hour, 
this  moment !  You  shall  have  money — competence, 
riches.  You  shall  have  anything,  everything  your  heart 
desirea  Only  go — go !  Jim  will  stop  the  night-train  at 
your  signal,  and  take  you  with  him  into  a  new  world 
where  you  two  can  marry,  and  be  rich  and  happy.  Delay, 
and  you  will  lose  your  chance.  Here  is  money  enough  to 
see  you  through  the  journey,  and  the  rest  shall  follow.  I 
swear  it.  Off  with  you,  my  girl !  You  are  free,  free  for- 
ever, from  the  Harriman  yoke  of  shame  ! " 

He  had  uttered  the  words  with  feverish  eagerness, 
pressing  a  roll  of  bills  between  her  locked  hands,  as  he 
spoke.  She  lifted  her  face  ;  it  was  set  and  sullen.  With 
deliberate  hand  she  dropped  the  money  into  the  nether 
flames. 

He  sprang  forward,  but  he  was  too  late  to  rescue  it. 
Already  the  crisp  bills  were  uncurling  in  the  fiery  draught, 
writhing  as  the  flames  caught  them,  withering  into 
ashes. 

"  Curse  you !  "  he  cried,  fiercely.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


A  SOX  OF  ESAU.  229 

"  Fur  four  long  years,"  she  answered,  "  I  pray'd  yo'  day 
an'  night  fur  to  let  me  go.  But  yo'  left  me  naught  'twixt 
bidin'  wi'  Waif  or  goiu'  wi'out  her,  an*  th'  choosin'  I 
made,  I'll  bide  by.  Waif's  not  getten  many  things  ter 
love,  nor  long  ter  love  'em,  an'  th'  Freshet's  her  friend, 
an'  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  part  her  fro'  it.  When  Waif's  gone, 
I'll  go,  an'  welcome  ;  but  not  afore  then,  not  fur  nuthin  ! 
You're  too  late !" 

"Then  bear  the  consequences  of  your  refusal,"  he 
ci-ied.  "  My  threat  shall  be  no  empty  one  this  time,  by 
the  devil " 

But  the  oath  died  on  his  lips.  Between  him  and  the 
child  he  was  about  to  snatch  from  her  shielding  arms, 
Isolde  sped,  like  a  vision. 

As  he  fell  back,  Sal  sunk  upon  her  knees  at  Isolde's 
feet. 

"  Yo're  a  woman  !  "  she  sobbed.  "  Some  day,  yo'll  be 
a  mother.  Ez  yo'  do  by  us,  your  child  '11  be  done  by. 
Waif  can't  last  long.  Life's  done  hard  enough  by  her. 
Let  her  die  easy,  I  ax  yo'  in  God's  name  !  She's  lived  'yer 
by  th'  Freshet,  an'  she'll  die  easy  by  it.  She's  allers 
watchin'  an'  waitin'  fur  th'  boat  ez  '11  come  ter  fetch  her, 
an'  th'  tide  ez  '11  sail  her  safe  ter  th'  golden  shore.  I've 
laid  out  how  I'll  loose  th'  old  boat  by  th'  cross-roads,  an' 
drift  along  th'  Freshet,  while  she  dies  in  my  arms.  'Tain't 
much  I  ax,  arter  th'  hard  wrong  done  me,  but  he's  ag'inst 
me.  Stand  by  me,  fur  Waif's  sake  !  'Twon't  be  fur  long. 
I  oughter  be  glad  o'  it.  Heav'n's  th'  place  fur  winimen- 
folks.  This  yer's  a  men-folks'  world  !  " 

Isolde  had  come  to  appeal  to  Sal.  Instead,  Sal  had 
appealed  to  her.  Steele  awaited  the  result,  breathlessly. 
If  Isolde's  heart  were  touched,  his  secret  was  still  safe. 
Had  Sal  failed,  or  succeeded  ?  One  look  at  Isolde's  face 


230  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

answered  him.  It  was  deathly  pale,  yet  luminous  with 
the  sacrificial  fires  flaming  from  the  altar  of  her  soul.  He 
thrilled  with  the  exultation  of  triumph.  His  "devil's 
luck"  had  not  failed  him.  On  the  verge  of  direst  failure, 
he  had  won. 

As  Sal  rose,  Isolde  answered  her. 

"  Such  mercy  as  you  ask  of  me,"  she  said,  "I  came  to 
ask  of  you,  Sal,  but  God  has  judged  between  us.  I  dare  not 
set  aside  what  seems  to  be  His  hand.  I  promise  all  you 
ask.  I  will  guard  your  secret.  Waif  shall  not  be  taken 
from  you.  She  has  lived  by  the  Freshet — she  shall  die 
by  it !  At  best,  your  cross  is  sorely,  bitterly  heavy.  I  will 
not  make  it  heavier,  to  lighten  mine  1 " 

11  Pitty  'ady,"  cooed  Waif,  burying  her  little  hands  in 
Isolde's  soft  seal  coat,  and  stroking  the  rich  fur  with  child- 
ish murmurs  of  delight. 

Outside  the  cabin,  sleigh-bells  jingled.  Steele  stepped 
toward  the  door.  As  Isolde  turned  to  follow  him,  Sal's 
prostrate  figure  barred  her  way.  In  her  passionate  grati- 
tude she  was  kissing  Isolde's  feet. 

Less  than  an  hour  later,  her  pathetic  pallor  enhanced 
by  her  dead  black  gown,  Isolde  entered  the  drawing- 
room  in  obedience  to  her  husband's  imperious  summons. 
As  Kingsley  joined  her,  she  saw,  hesitating  behind  him, 
a  blonde  young  man  with  a  boyish,  wine-flushed  face. 

"  Randal !  "  presented  Steele,  informally. 

As  the  youth  stared  into  her  face,  retaining  her  hand 
iu  his  unsteady  clasp,  a  sudden  shamed  self-consciousness 
flashed  into  his  bleared  blue  eyes. 

"  I — I'm  not  in  trim  to  take  your  hand  to-night,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  can't  let  it  go.  May  I  k — kiss  it  ?  You  look 
like  some  one  I  once  knew — one  1 1 — loved  and  lost.  She 
and  my  mother  were  all  I  had,  and  1 1 — lost  both.  If  my 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  231 

mother  bad  lived,  if — if  she  had  1 — loved  ine,  I  should  not 
be  (hie)  here  to-night.  I  was  a  good  enough  young 
f — fellow  in  the — the — s — sweet  by-and-by.  I  say,  you're 
p — pretty  as  a  picture.  Only  why  the  d — dickens  don't 
you  s — sit  still  ?  L — let's  have  another  drink.  W — what's 
yours?  I — I  didn't  know  how  to  d — drink  in  those 
days.  I  had  not  met  R — (hie)  Rundell,  then,  nor — • 
nor " 

"  Nor  my  husband,"  finished  Isolde,  quietly.  "  I  under- 
stand." 

There  was  an  expression  on  her  face  that  Steele  caught, 
and  partially  understood.  He  knew  that  the  boy  had 
drunk  more  than  was  good  for  him,  and  thought  that  she 
was  pained  and  annoyed. 

"Come,  Randy,"  he  said,  slapping  him  on  the  back,  and 
twirling  him  about  as  he  struggled  to  regain  his  balance  ; 
"  it's  time  for  good  little  boys  to  be  in  bed.  Ring  for 
lights  in  the  green  room,  Isolde.  In  the  '  green-room,' 
by  Jove  !  Pleasant  quarters  to  lie  low  in  for  a  few  days, 
eh,  young  chap  ? — till  the  hounds  lose  scent  of  you  !  " 

"The  hounds  in  question  being  the  original  owners  of 
the  Red  Ridge  mine  ?  "  asked  Isolde. 

Kiiigsley  started,  and  looked  at  her  keenly.  The  boy 
nodded  confusedly. 

"Then  sleep  in  peace,"  she  said.  "If  the  hounds 
do  scent  you,  they  shall  learn  that  not  the  boy  who 
bought  up  the  stock,  but  the  man  who  paid  for  it,  is  their 
rightful  prey." 

Steele  stifled  an  oath.  Kingsley,  after  an  expressive  ex- 
clamation, laughed  indulgently. 

"  You're  a  plucky  little  woman,"  he  said.    "  I  like  you." 

She  watched  her  husband  till  he  had  disappeared  with 
his  guest  up  the  stairs.  Then  she  turned  to  Kingsley. 


232  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"He  is  a  child  in  your  bands,"  she  said.  "I  beg  that 
you  will  spare  him." 

"  I  will,"  he  answered,  boldly,  "  if  I  may  spare  him  for 
your  sake." 

Her  shining  eyes,  whose  sudden  light  he  failed  to  read 
aright,  led  him  on. 

"  You  are  divine !  "  he  whispered. 

Her  silence  emboldened  him.  As  he  leaned  closer  she 
repulsed  him,  with  a  gesture  which  was  at  once  a  com- 
mand and  an  appeal. 

"I  am  human,"  she  moaned;  "a  human,  young,  weak 
woman,  tired  of  a  woman's  life-long  battle  against  man's 
ruthless  odds.  A  madness  born  of  anguish  is  upon  me. 
The  narrow  way  is  weary  ;  the  wide  way  lures  my  feet.  O, 
by  your  manhood,  be  for  me,  not  against  me  !  Save  me 
from — myself !  " 

O,  the  pity  of  it !  the  pity  of  it !  The  white  dove 
dragged  in  the  mire,  howsoever  against  its  will,  rises  not 
thence,  ah,  never !  with  pure,  unsullied  wings. 

As  she  left  him  he  took  a  quick  step  after  her,  then  with 
a  dazed  look,  fell  back. 

"By  Jove!"  he  murmured.  "And  I  thought  that  I 
knew  women ! " 

Through  a  woman  Ralph  Kingsley  had  fallen-  Through 
a  woman  his  regeneration  was  begun. 


CHAPTER 


IN      TIGHTENING     TOILS. 

The  crucial  test  to  which  Isolde  had  been  subjected 
reacted  physically,  resulting  in  a  severe  illness  to  which 
she  passively,  even  gratefully,  succumbed.  After  her 
feverish  emotion,  the  languor  of  weakness  was  welcome  to 
her.  She  lay  for  weeks  in  utter  exhaustion,  passive  and 
peaceful  as  a  drowsy  child.  When  she  roused  herself, 
at  last,  the  snow  had  disappeared,  and  spring  was  bright 
on  the  prairie. 

As  Isolde  convalesced,  the  gossip  which  had  waxed  and 
waned  since  the  day  of  Mrs.  Kummins'  tea,  waxed  anew  ; 
expectant  Newfield  believing  a  solution  of  the  scandalous 
mystery  to  be  at  hand.  But  as  week  succeeded  week,  and 
DO  explanation  of  her  impulsive  statement  was  attempted 
—  when  of  the  statement  itself,  indeed,  both  Isolde  and 
her  husband  assumed  blank  and  disconcerting  uncon- 
sciousness —  there  was  a  general  shrugging  of  shoulders,  a 
confidential  whisper  that  "  Mrs.  Harriman  had  found  out 
Steele  Harriman,  for  all  his  smartness,"  and  the  scandal, 
the  fact  of  its  scandalousness  having  been  satisfactorily 
established,  eventually  lost  its  interest.  Isolde,  however, 
was  scarcely  the  happier  for  the  truce,  but  she  had  now 
given  up  all  hope  of  happiness.  She  had  even  given  up 
its  desire.  Where  she  had  once  prayed  to  be  happy,  she 
now  prayed  only  to  be  good.  Since  that  mad  moment 


234  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

with  Kingsley,  when  for  the  first  time  in  her  pure  young 
life,  temptation,  born  of  pain  and  desperation,  had  faced 
her,  she  had  realized  that  only  in  prayer  was  her  strength, 
her  salvation.  Self  is  strong  against  others,  but  against 
self  only  God  can  defend. 

For  a  little  space  after  her  recovery,  her  husband  left 
her  in  peace — then  the  old  miserable  life  was  resumed. 
Delicate,  physically,  and  with  heart  shrinking  from  the 
past  and  quailing  before  the  future,  she  found  herself  com- 
pelled, night  after  night,  to  don  the  gorgeous  gowns 
which  she  began  to  regard  as  the  livery  of  a  shameful  slave- 
hood,  and  break  bread  with  guests  from  whom  her  pure 
soul  instinctively  revolted.  Night  after  night  she  found 
herself  surrounded  in  the  sumptuous  drawing-room  by 
such  men  as  chose  to  sacrifice  the  wines  and  weeds,  the 
racy  after-dinner  stories,  and  billiard  and  poker-tables, 
for  her  society.  To  her  husband's  pride,  to  her  own  bit- 
ter humiliation  and  regret,  such  men  were  neither  few  nor 
far  between.  As  they  flocked  about  her,  flushed  with 
wine  and  coarsely  familiar  in  address,  she  felt  a  moral  re- 
pulsion amounting  to  physical  nausea,  and  turned  to 
Kiugsley  for  the  protection  her  husband  ruthlessly  de- 
nied her.  Since  the  night  when  her  white  soul  had 
revealed  its  struggle  to  him,  his  previous  familiar  gal- 
lantry of  manner  had  been  substituted  by  an  almost  rev- 
erent respect,  which  fell  like  balm  upon  her  wounded 
spirit.  Too  wise  in  his  generation  to  assume  any  openly 
on-guard  attitude  in  response  to  her  unconscious  appeal, 
Kingsley  nevertheless  saved  her  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion from  far  worse  evils  than  she  knew.  In  her  darkest 
hour  she  realized  that  the  shadow  might  be  darker.  Had 
the  men  whom  she  found  endurable  only  because  they 
were  men,  been  accompanied  by  such  women  as  must 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  235 

naturally  have  been  their  affinities  —  women  of  such 
type  as  the  three  from  whom,  months  earlier,  she  had 
fled  from  her  home  into  the  bitter  night  —  she  felt 
that  she  must  have  revolted.  But  this  insult,  at  least, 
was  spared  her ;  and  more  or  less  directly,  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Ralph  Kingsley,  her  merciful  immunity  was 
due. 

There  was  one  man  from  whom,  however,  despite  all 
her  courteous  efforts  to  dissimulate,  she  openly  and  in- 
stinctively recoiled.  This  man  was  Rundell.  He  was  a 
coarse,  thick-set,  sullen-browed  man,  with  snake-like  eyes 
whose  pupils  constantly  expanded  and  contracted  in  a 
horribly  fascinating  manner.  His  coarse,  black  hair  was 
oiled  and  scented  ;  and  diamonds  flashed  from  his  shirt- 
bosom  and  upon  his  short,  thick  fingers.  He  was  Steele's 
inseparable  companion,  and  one  of  the  men  who  never 
failed  to  seek  the  drawing-room  soon  after  the  after- 
dinner  claret. 

One  evening  he  had  drunk  more  deeply  than  usual — 
as  a  rule  he  did  not  offend  in  this  manner — and  Isolde  had 
fled  his  offensive  presence  in  disgust.  Later,  he  had  some 
high  words  with  his  host.  Steele  excused  himself,  and 
followed  Isolde  to  her  room. 

"  You  have  insulted  Rundell,"  he  said,  with  ominous 
quiet.  "  To-morrow  you  will  make  amends." 

"I  did  not  insult  him,"  she  said,  firmly.  "I  simply 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  insult  me." 

"Insult  you!"  he  repeated.  "Did  he  really  forget 
himself  so  far  as  that  ?  " 

"Not  absolutely  in  words,"  she  admitted;  "but  his 
presence  is  in  itself  an  insult — his  manner,  his  very 
glance " 

He  laughed  contemptuously. 


236  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"A  woman's  vanity  and  prejudice,"  he  said.  "There 
must  be  no  more  such  folly.  I —  I " 

His  eyes  fell.  His  voice  lost  its  imperiousness.  There 
was  an  appealing  note  in  it. 

"  Make  allowance  for  him.  Endure  him,  for  my  sake," 
he  faltered.  "  He  is  a  power.  There  is  more  at  stake 
than  you  know." 

Her  face  blanched.  For  a  moment  she  stood  in  silence. 
When  she  spoke  at  last,  it  was  in  desperation,  born  of 
despair. 

"You  force  me  to  say  to  you,"  she  said,  "what  per- 
haps you  will  not  forgive.  But  the  truth  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  truth,  for  being  spoken.  Suppose 
that  the  application  of  your  words  should  be  reversed  ? — 
that  there  is  more  at  stake  than  you  know?  You  have 
forced  me  to  play  with  fire,  all  my  married  life.  It  is  a 
dangerous  pastime.  How  can  you  know  that  I  shall  not 
be  burned,  at  last?" 

A  terrible  look  flashed  into  his  face,  but  it  vanished 
even  as  it  came.  With  a  laugh,  he  stooped  and  kissed 
her. 

"  I  do  not  fear  for  you,"  he  said.  "  You  are  a  woman 
with  a  God  !  "  and  hastened  from  the  room. 

On  an  impulse  born  of  desperation  she  followed  him. 
He  heard  the  rustle  of  her  gown  behind  him  and  quick- 
ened his  steps.  As  she  overtook  him  he  drew  aside  the 
library  portiere,  and  dropped  it  between  them.  Turning 
back  irresolutely,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with 
Kingsley.  She  grasped  his  hand,  and  drew  him  toward 
the  hall.  He  yielded,  looking  anxiously  at  her  mean- 
while. She  was  very  pale,  and  her  hand,  as  it  rested  on 
his,  was  chill  and  trembling. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me,"  she  panted,  "  what  this  man 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  237 

Rundell  is,  to  my  husband — why  is  he  here — what  his 
hold  is " 

"Has  he  made  you  feel  his  hold  ?  "  he  interrupted,  wrath- 
fully. 

She  waived  the  question,  wringing  her  hands  in  ner- 
vous impatience. 

"  Tell  me  !  tell  me  ! "  she  implored. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  just  what  his  hold  is,"  he  faltered. 
"That  he  has  one,  however,  I  fear  I  must  admit." 

"  Then  you  think " 

"  I  think  it  best  that  you  should  not  offend  him,  un- 
necessarily— best  for  your  husband's  sake  ! " 

She  turned  away  with  a  moan.  Half-way  up  the  stairs, 
she  looked  back.  Kingsley  was  gazing  after  her  with 
shadowed,  miserable  eyes,  and  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  the 
library  portieres  just  closing  behind  him,  stood  Rundell, 
smiling  on  them. 

The  next  morning,  Steele  rode  to  the  bank  by  the  way 
of  the  Ledge.  He  had  not  responded  to  Isolde's  appeal, 
but  neither  had  he  been  deaf  to  it.  Althea,  since  her 
divorce,  the  secret  of  which  had  leaked  out,  had  been  cir- 
cumspect, socially,  and  seldom  presented  herself  at  the 
Harriman  house  during  guest-hours.  Of  late,  however, 
Steele  had  noticed  that  Rundell  had  more  than  once  found 
his  way  to  the  Ledge.  He  foresaw  the  way  by  which  he 
could  at  once  shield  Isolde,  and  forward  Althea's  ambition. 

"  Isolde  is  the  right  woman  in  the  right  place,"  he  con- 
fided to  her,  after  a  brief  preliminary  chat,  "  but  she  is 
not  adaptable.  She  is  impolitic,  and  intolerant  of  social 
means  for  business  ends.  You  are  clever  and  not  too 
squeamish.  You  know  what  I  want  of  you.  She  is  the 
wheel  to  grind  the  grain,  but  your's  is  the  hand  to  turn 
it.  Do  you  agree  ?  " 


A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Althea  hesitated.  In  truth,  she  resented  his  plain 
speaking.  It  proved  that  he  lacked  the  respect  for  her 
that  he  felt  for  Isolde.  Moreover,  she  thought  that  he 
was  somewhat  reckless.  Remarks  were  already  rife  in 
Newfield  as  to  the  "  goings-on  "  at  the  Harriman  house. 
Steele,  who  had  not  dismounted,  watched  her  with  half- 
shut  eyes,  flicking  away  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  as  he 
waited. 

"  I  will  make  it  worth  your  while,"  he  added. 

Still  she  made  no  answer. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  as  if  changing  the  subject,  "the 
house  must  be  kept  attractive  to  Rundell,  and  the  present 
administration  bores  him.  In  his  brutal  way,  he  is  an 
inveterate  lady's  man.  The  tastes  of  a  man  of  millions 
must  be  considered.  I  must  get  down  a  few  handsome 
girls  from  Denver,  to  amuse  him." 

Althea's  blue  eyes  dilated. 

"I  agree," she  said,  curtly. 

He  rode  away  with  a  smile  on  his  face.  Isolde  would 
be  shielded. 

Ignorant  of  her  husband's  little  manoeuvre  in  her  be- 
half, Isolde,  meanwhile,  was  passing  a  bad  day.  The 
scene  of  the  previous  night  haunted  her  like  the  memory 
of  an  evil  dream.  She  scarcely  dared  realize  the  real  sig- 
nificance of  it.  That  her  husband  had  political  ambitions 
at  stake — that  he  speculated  recklessly,  even  daringly, 
she  knew  ;  but  that  he  could  be  in  the  power  of  Rundell 
or  his  kind,  was  a  possibility  fraught  with  shame  she 
could  not  face.  She  thought  and  thought,  till  her  heart 
fainted  and  her  brain  reeled.  When  her  husband's 
step  sounded  on  the  threshold  she  sped  to  her  dressing- 
room,  where,  at  this  hour,  he  usually  sought  her.  Per- 
haps he  would  hear,  would  heed,  a  last  appeal.  The 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  239 

day  had  gone  well  with  him,  and  he  joined  her  in  happy 
humor. 

"Not  dressed  yet?"  he  said,  with  a  disparaging  glance 
at  her  dainty  negligee.  "Make  haste,  little  woman! 
Appetite,  as  well  as  dinner,  waits  !  " 

"  Do  we  dine  alone,  Steele  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  ;  since  upon  Rundell's  amiable  mood 
this  evening  is  staked  the  biggest  stock  '  combine '  of  the 
spring  market.  He  and  Kingsley  drove  up  with  me.  A 
few  of  the  boys  will  run  down  by  special,  for  the  even- 
ing. They  can't  keep  away.  Do  you  know  what  they 
say  in  Denver  ? — that  I  own  the  best  wines,  the  best 
weeds,  and  the  prettiest  woman  in  Colorado  !  " 

"  You  are  willing  that  your  wife  should  be  classed  by 
such  men,  with  your  wine  and  your  cigars?" 

"I  am  charmed  that  such  men  consider  my  wife  worthy 
of  the  classification." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  maid  handed  in 
an  exquisite  cluster  of  rare  orchids.  They  bore  Rundell's 
card. 

She  shut  the  door  and  turned  to  her  husband.  The 
moment  for  her  appeal  was  come. 

"  Steele,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  appeal  to  you  for 
the  last  time.  If  you  repulse  me  now,  I  will  never  turn  to 
you  again,  never,  so  help  me  God,  however  sore  my  need ! 
You  are  dragging  me  down,  unconsciously,  unrealizingly, 
as  you  are  allowing  yourself  to  be  dragged  down  by  these 
bold,  bad  men.  They  are  not  your  friends,  Steele,  but 
your  most  ruthless  enemies  ;  because  they  are  ruining 
not  only  your  body,  but  your  soul.  Are  you  better  for 
their  companionship  by  one  pure  thought,  one  high  ambi- 
tion, one  noble  word  or  deed  ?  Not  one  !  What  are  their 
words  but  oaths  ?  What  is  their  example  but  dissipation  ? 


240  A  SON   OF  ESAU. 

What  are  their  animal,  brutal,  sensual  lives  but  insults  to 
their  God,  evils  to  their  fellow-men,  degradation  for 
themselves,  contamination  for  you  ?  The  intimacy  has 
been  a  mistake,  a  step  aside.  End  it  !  Begin,  by  letting 
me  send  back  these  flowers.  Let  me  send  them  back, 
Steele — let  me  send  them  back  !  " 

He  took  the  orchids  from  her  hand,  and  buried  his  face 
in  them.  In  breathless  suspense  she  waited  for  his  an- 
swer. As  he  restored  the  bouquet  to  her,  his  eyes  did  not 
meet  hers. 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet,"  he  said.  "  Rundell  is  nothing  if 
not  gallant.  Have  you  remarked  his  devotion  to  Althea? 
Wear  or  carry  these  to-night.  Their  sweetness,  like  their 
fair  recipient's,  is  far  too  precious  to  be  wasted." 

She  dashed  the  blossoms  to  the  ground,  and  trampled 
on  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

A    SON    AND    HKTR. 

In  September  Isolde's  baby  was  born — a  son.  Steele 
was  at  the  bank  when  the  summons  reached  him.  He 
obeyed  it  with  haggard  face  and  a  heart  racked  with  bitter, 
vain  regret.  The  possibility  of  losing  her  tortured,  al- 
most maddened  him.  In  spite  of  the  misery  to  which  he 
had  ruthlessly  subjected  her,  he  loved  her.  Bad  as  he 
was,  he  would  have  been  infinitely  worse  but  for  this  love, 
whose  purifying,  ennobling  influence  kept  alive  the  divine 
flame  ever  flickering  within  his  soul.  As  he  entered  the 
hushed  house,  the  sound  of  a  faint  cry  reached  him.  He 
dashed  into  the  library,  and  covered  his  ears  with  his 
hands.  Without  remorse  he  had  subjected  her  to  long 
and  acute  mental  torture  ;  but  physical  pain  was  differ- 
ent. He  could  comprehend,  compassionate  it,  revolt 
against  it.  He  drew  a  breath  of  relief  that  was  almost 
a  sob  as  Dr.  Keene  appeared,  and  ended  his  suspense. 

"  The  danger  is  comparatively  over,"  he  said.  "  She  is 
asking  for  you.  Be  careful  not  to  excite  her." 

On  the  threshold  of  the  darkened  chamber  he  hesi- 
tated. He  felt  himself  pushed  in,  and  heard  the  door 
shut  softly  behind  him.  At  first,  the  still,  dark  room  with 
its  drawn  curtains  seemed  unfamiliar  to  him.  Then  he 
discerned  a  cloud  of  gold-brown  hair  on  the  pillow,  and  a 
sweet,  wan  face  framed  in  it,  lighted  by  fluttering  violet 


242  A  SON  OF  ESAU, 

eyes.  One  white  arm  lay  outside  the  coverlet,  and  upon 
it  a  tiny  bundle  of  flannel  seemed  to  stir.  A  great  awe 
swept  over  him.  How  dared  he  enter  this  holy  chamber 
— he,  every  unworthy  phase  of  whose  life  flashed  venge- 
f ully  before  him,  like  angel-swords  of  flame  !  A  sob  broke 
from  him,  a  terrible  sob,  strangled  in  its  birth.  He 
groped  his  way  to  the  bed,  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  it. 

"  My  darling  !  "  he  cried.     "  My  darling  ! " 

"  You  wished  for  a  son,"  she  quavered.  "I  am  so  glad, 
so  glad !  Is  he  not  the  most  beautiful  darling  ?  Kiss 
him." 

The  bundle  of  flannel  proved  to  have  one  vulnerable 
spot.  On  the  little  red,  distorted  countenance,  whose 
beauty  was  unrevealed,  as  yet,  save  to  doting  mother-eyes, 
the  young  father  timidly  rested  his  lips.  As  he  did  so,  a 
tiny  clenched  fist,  soft  as  down  and  weak  as  a  fledgling- 
wing,  wavered  up  against  his  cheek.  He  held  his  breath 
as  it  lingered  there,  caressing  it  with  timid  tenderness,  as 
it  fluttered  down.  The  young  mother's  eyes  overflowed 
with  happy  tears. 

"My  baby's  father  ! "  she  whispered. 

The  tender  words  unmanned  him. 

"  My  wife,"  he  cried,  "  tell  me,  tell  me  that  you  forgive 
me  ! " 

He  hid  his  face  as  she  answered  him.  Forgive  him  ? 
Ah,  there  was  so  much  to  be  forgiven — so  much  more 
than  she  knew ! 

The  unextinguished  divine  spark  within  him  was  fanned 
to  sudden  flame.  By  its  light  he  saw  himself,  his  life,  as 
both  had  been,  as  both  might  and  should  have  been,  had 
this  pure,  sweet  woman  but  had  her  gentle  way.  Intui- 
tively, she  read  his  thoughts.  A  shadow  fell  on  her 
happy  face.  She  began  to  tremble,  nervously. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  243 

"The  past  has  been  all  wrong  and  wicked,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  God  will  forgive  us,  help  us,  to  begin  anew. 
We  will  do  better — we  must  do  better,  Steele,  for  baby's 
sake  ! " 

He  did  not  answer.  He  was  shuddering  in  acute  torture. 
The  words  were  coals  of  fire  burning  his  soul  and  heart. 
"  God  will  forgive  us — us  !"  she  was  saying — she,  who  had 
been  as  pure  and  spotless  as  the  white-winged  angels. 
"  God  will  forgive  us !  We  will  do  better ! "  O,  the 
shame,  the  pain,  the  pity  of  it ! 

Of  a  sudden  he  realized  that  her  breath  was  coming  in 
quick  gasps,  and  that  her  hand  was  burning.  He  looked 
at  her  anxiously.  Her  eyes  were  darker  and  brighter 
than  when  he  had  last  looked  in  them,  and  a  feverish  flush 
was  deepening  on  her  cheeks.  On  the  pillow  her  head 
tossed  restlessly,  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro 

"  I —  I  cannot  think  how  it  all  came  about,"  she  panted  ; 
"all  the  wrong — and  sin — and  sorrow.  The  cabin — by 
the  Freshet ! — The  child — and  the  woman  !  — Who  are 
all  these  men  around  me — smiling  at  me — and  staring — 
with  dreadful  eyes  !  Save  me  from  them — Steele,  Steele, 
save  me — for — baby's — sake  !  " 

In  alarm,  he  called  to  the  nurse,  waiting  in  the  little 
ante-room.  One  glance  at  the  flushed  face  on  the  pillow, 
and  she  ordered  him  from  the  room,  and  summoned  Dr. 
Keene.  As  he  descended  the  stairs,  Althea  met  him. 
She  extended  her  hand,  gaily. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Harriman  senior  !  "  she  said. 

In  his  torture  of  suspense  and  vain  remorse,  he  brushed 
by  her  with  a  shudder. 

"  Don't  touch  me  ! "  he  cried.  "  Don't  speak  to  me.  I 
have  been  with — her ! " 

Althea  gazed  after  him,  blankly.     Then,  with  a  shrug  of 


24:4  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

her  handsome  shoulders,  she  passed  on.  The  tale  of  the 
lost  Paradise  recurred  to  her.  According  to  Adam,  it  is 
Eve,  always  Eve,  who  eats  the  apple  ! 

Isolde  did  not  die.  Day  by  day,  fettered  to  earth  by 
clinging  baby-hands,  her  hold  on  life  grew  stronger.  Upon 
a  changed  world  she  looked  out  with  changed  eyes.  What 
had  seemed  before,  earthily,  ignobly  human,  was  now 
divine.  The  sweet  old  Christmas  story  was  brought  near 
to  her.  She  understood  now  how  the  world  had  been 
redeemed  by  the  birth  of  One  little  Child.  The  maternal 
passion  was  strong  in  her.  She  loved  God,  her  husband, 
all  the  human  world,  infinitely  the  more,  because  of  this 
one  helpless  atom  of  humanity,  lying  like  a  rosebud  on  her 
breast.  With  tender  eyes  and  cheek  pressed  lovingly 
against  the  baby-face,  she  sat,  day  after  day,  dreaming — 
dreaming.  Who  shall  read  the  heart  of  the  mother- 
bird,  brooding  in  rapture  over  the  new-filled  nest  ?  Who 
tell  the  dream  of  the  mother-breast,  thrilling  with  love  of 
its  first  sweet  human  birthling  ?  She  made  tender  little 
songs,  and  sung  them  between  her  dreams.  Here  is  one 
of  them : 

LOVE'S  SYNONYMS. 

What  is  my  sun  ? 

A  silken  floss 

That  young  winds  tangle,  and  twine,  and  toss. 
A  floating  halo  that  gilds  the  air, 
Aud  the  floss — my  sun — is  your  golden  hair, 

Your  hair, 

Baby  boy  I 

What  are  my  stars  ? 

Sweet  pansies  two, 
With  hearts  of  purple,  and  rims  of  blue. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  245 

Love  shines  within  them  in  stellar  guise, 
And  my  pansy-stars  are  your  two  bright  eyes, 
Your  eyes, 

Baby  boy ! 

What  is  my  rose  ? 

A  love-cup  shy  ; 

Sweet  draughts  of  kisses  within  it  lie. 
It  brims  with  laughter  and  love  and  youth. 
And  the  cup — my  rose — is  your  rose-red  mouth, 

Your  mouth, 

Baby  boy ! 

What  is  my  bird  ? 

An  unseen  lyre, 

Whose  sweet  strains  echo  from  angel-choir, 
Its  songs  of  heaven  bid  earth  rejoice, 
And  the  lyre — my  bird — is  your  childish  voice, 
Your  voice, 

Baby  boy ! 

What  are  my  life, 

My  love,  my  bliss  ? 

Your  gold  young  tresses,  your  eyes,  your  kiss ! 
In  these  my  rapture  ;  elsewhere  my  rue, 
For  my  whole,  whole  world  is  just  you,  sweet,  you  I—- 
Just you, 

Baby  boy  I 

And  here,  another. 

SLUMBEK-SONG. 

Fair  five  petalled  lilies  two. 
Budding  white  in  heaven's  blue, 
Earthward  peeping,  once  saw  you, 

(Sleep,  baby  mine !) 
Hence  in  heaven  could  not  stay, 
Truant-lilies,  stole  away  ; 
They  that  are  your  hands  to-day. 

(Baby  mine,  sleep!) 


246  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Once  from  Edeu,  roses  twain, 
Five  wee  rosebuds  in  their  train, 
Wandered  toward  this  world  mundane, 

(Sleep,  baby  mine  !) 
.Met  you  in  some  dim  retreat, 
White  rose  fair,  and  pink  rose  sweet; 
Bloomed  into  your  two  wee  feet. 

(Baby  mine,  sleep!) 

Once  an  angel  at  earth's  gate, 
Unincarnate  lay  in  wait, 
Seeking  soul  inviolate, 

(Sleep,  baby  mine !) 
Seeking  eyes  of  heaven's  blue, 
Mouth  like  rosebud  wet  with  dew, 
Seeking,  finding  all,  in  you! 

(Baby  mine,  sleep !) 


"  There  is  the  look  of  an  angel  on  her  face,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Kummins,  turning  with  Miss  Sharpe  from  the  Har- 
riman  gate,  after  a  congratulatory  call.  "That  blessed 
baby  '11  go  back  to  the  heaven  it  came  from,  an'  take  her 
along  with  it.  We'd  best  make  the  most  of  her  while 
she's  left  us,  Virginny,  for  we  won't  keep  her  long." 

Miss  Sharpe  disagreed. 

"  There  is  a  look  of  a  woman  on  her  face,"  she  empha- 
sized ;  "the  look  of  a  woman  who  has  loved  and  suffered 
much,  and  who  will  live  to  love  and  suffer  more." 

At  the  cross-roads  they  met  Steele,  mounted  on  Lady- 
bird. He  cantered  by  them  with  a  gay  salute.  Miss 
Sharpe  looked  after  him. 

"He  is  grandly  handsome,"  she  admitted,  reluctantly. 
"  There  is  something  almost  terrible  about  such  animal 
strength  and  beauty.  After  all,  the  love  of  such  a  man 
must  mean  life  or  death." 


A  SOW  OF  ESAU.  247 

"  To  him  ?  "  questioned  innocent  Mrs.  Kummins. 
Miss  Sbarpe  scorned  the  suggestion. 
"To  him — a  man!"  she  jeered.     "Nonsense,  woman, 
of  course  not.     I  mean  to  her,  to  her  !  " 

Brooding,  bird-like,  over  her  baby  day  after  day,  in 
sweet  young-mother  fashion — thinking  over  her  past,  and 
dreaming  of  her  future — there  was  one  half-forgotten 
scene,  whose  memory  revived  and  haunted  her — the  scene 
of  the  bitter  night  when  she  had  fled  from  her  home,  and 
Althea  had  forced  her  back,  and  Magdalen — the  woman 
from  whom  she  had  shrunk,  had  stood  her  fiiend  and 
shielded  her. 

"  You  need  not  shrink  from  me  ;  my  touch  will  not  pollute 
you.  lam  on  the  brink,  yes;  but  as  yet,  I  have  not  crossed 
the  chasm." 

She  had  forgotten  the  words  in  the  troubled  time  suc- 
ceeding them,  but  in  these  long  weeks  of  blissful  reverie, 
when  all  the  natural  world  seemed  fairer,  and  all  the 
human  world  nearer  and  dearer,  because  of  the  baby 
cradled  in  her  arms,  she  recalled  them,  bitterly  reproach- 
ing herself  for  having  been  deaf  so  long  to  their  pathos 
and  appeal.  Baby  should  atone  for  her,  she  resolved, 
tenderly ;  never  doubting*  the  power  of  those  helpless, 
childish  hands. 

As  she  convalesced,  the  subject  of  the  baby's  christen- 
ing was  broached. 

"  What  is  to  be  his  name  ?  "  inquired  Steele,  tweaking 
one  of  the  wee  pink  ears  by  way  of  caress. 

"He  shall  be  called  after  you,  of  course,"  said 
Isolde. 

"  I  prefer  that  he  be  called  first,  after  a  better  man — my 
father.  John  Steele — how  does  that  suit  you  ?  " 


2±8  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  It  is  not  very  pretty.  I  was  thinking  of  Steele  Mar- 
maduke,  after  you  and  my  father." 

"  Save  the  Marmaduke  for  his  brother,  my  sweet,  and 
please  me.  As  to  his  sponsors,  let  Kingsley  and  Dr.  Keene 
be  godfathers " 

<:  I  should  have  liked  George,"  interrupted  Isolde,  "wist- 
fully. "  But  under  the  circumstances  he  is,  of  course, 
impossible.  As  to  his  godmother " 

She  hid  a  smile  and  blush  in  the  golden  down  which, 
notwithstanding  her  Muse's  flattering  representations, 
was  all  that  had  as  yet  materialized  of  John  Steele's  hair. 

"  As  to  his  godmother,  baby  and  I  have  a  surprise  in 
store  for  you,"  she  said.  "I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,  after 
I  have  been  to  Denver.  We  are  so  happy  about  it,  so 
happy — baby  and  I !  " 

She  took  a  flying  trip  to  Denver,  her  errand  connected 
with  the  christening,  indeed  ;  but  not  as  exclusively  with 
purchases  for  the  christening  as  Steele  believed.  In 
reality,  she  went  in  search  of  Magdalen.  The  search 
proved  unavailing.  All  her  clues  were  false  ones.  Her 
atonement  was  too  late.  Beautiful  Magdalen  had  escaped 
her.  She  resigned  the  vain  search  with  a  sigh. 

She  had  left  Newfield  on  the  forenoon  flyer.  When  her 
search  ended,  the  sun  .was  sinking.  On  the  western 
mountains  the  summit-snows  were  crimson,  the  purple 
mists  flecked  with  rose  and  gold.  It  lacked  an  hour  of 
train-time.  She  was  faint  and  tired.  She  drove  to  the 
Windsor,  and  ordered  some  refreshment  served  in  the 
room  known  as  "Harriman's,"  it  being  reserved  for  the 
Newfield  banker's  use. 

As  she  left  the  hotel,  and  was  in  the  act  of  crossing  the 
sidewalk  to  her  carriage,  there  whirled  round  the  Larimer 
street  corner  a  showy  equipage  drawn  by  a  span  of 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  249 

spirited  bays,  whose  glittering  harness  jingled  with  gilded 
bells. 

As  the  liveried  footman  leaped  to  the  ground,  a  tall, 
beautiful  blonde,  magnificently  gowned  and  jeweled, 
descended.  Isolde,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  turned 
and  looked  at  her.  Then,  with  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prised pleasure,  she  approached  her  with  outstretched 
hand.  The  woman  started,  and  drew  back  against  the 
carriage. 

"  You  ?"  she  cried,  under  her  breath.     "You  ?  " 

A  sudden  burning  blush  stained  her  fair  face. 

"  I  cannot  take  your  hand,"  she  said.  "  I  told  you 
once  that  my  touch  would  not  pollute  you.  I  cannot  say 
that — now.  The  brink  is  behind  me.  I  have  crossed  the 
chasm.  Your  hand,  above  all  others,  I  can  never  touch 
again." 

She  swept  past  her  into  the  hotel,  even  as  she  spoke  the 
words.  For  a  moment,  Isolde  hesitated.  Then  with  pale 
sad  face,  she  entered  her  carriage. 

Steele  was  at  the  station  to  meet  her.  As  they  turned 
into  the  home-road,  she  burst  into  sudden  tears. 

"  My  surprise,"  she  sobbed,  "  is  spoiled.  You  may 
choose  baby's  godmother,  after  alL  She  can  never  be 
Magdalen,  never  !  I  was  too  late,  too  late  !  " 

"  Magdalen  ?  "  he  echoed,  incredulously.    "  Magdalen  ?  " 

He  flushed  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  paled. 

"Did  you  meet  her?"  he  demanded.  "Did  she  dare 
to  speak  to  you  ?  In  heaven's  name,  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"Nothing  that  she  should  have  said,"  sobbed  Isolde. 
"Not  that  the  world  is  hard,  and  women  false,  and  men 
strong  and  cruel ;  not  that  she  had  stood  my  friend,  who 
failed  to  stand  hers  ;  not  that  her  sin  is  on  my  head,  who 
selfishly,  ungratefully,  deserted  her,  whom  I  might  have 


250  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

saved.  She  said  only — that  she  could  never  touch  my 
hand  again." 

The  drive  was  taken  in  silence.  At  the  door  Kingsley 
met  them.  Steele  drew  him  aside,  and  spoke  a  few 
hasty  words. 

"Come  in  for  a  B,  and  S.,"  he  finished.  "I  feel  as  weak 
as — as  a  woman." 

Kingsley  turned  off  abruptly,  with  a  stern,  resentful 
face. 

"  Nothing  for  me,"  he  said,  curtly.  "  And,  by  the  way, 
why  not  be  truthful  in  our  similes,  and  say,  as  weak  as — 
a  man  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  REVEREND  HUNGERFORD  BARNEY. 

"  MY  DEAR  DIVINE  :  '  The  iniquity  of  the  fathers  shall  be 
visited  upon  the  children  ! '  Alas  for  rne — the  hapless 
victim  of  our  dissenting  ancestors  !  You  seem  to  be  at 
anchor  in  Rome,  but  I  still  drift  from  port  to  port,  to  fall 
foul  in  each  of  some  rock  of  doctrinal  unbelief.  Like 
John,  I  want  to  go  into  the  wilderness,  and  pray.  The 
New- World  wilderness  is  Newfield.  I  knock  !  With  your 
Bishop's  permission,  bid  me  enter  in  ! 

"  HUNGERFORD." 

With  this  characteristic  letter  in  his  hand,  the  Catholic 
priest  sat  in  the  parochial  study,  absorbed  in  earnest 
thought.  Finally,  he  took  up  his  hat,  and  with  the  letter 
still  in  his  hand,  walked  to  the  Freshet  cabin. 

"  It  means,"  asked  Sal,  when  he  had  read  it  to  her,  "  ez 
hell  be  'yer — 'yer  in  Newfield  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted. 

"  Yo'  sent  fur  him  ;  yo'  told  him  !  "  she  cried,  passion- 
ately. 

"Before  God,"  he  said,  "I  did  not.  I  read  you  this 
letter  to  show  you  that  his  visit  is  unsolicited.  Tho 
confidence  you  reposed  in  me  was  surprised  from  you, 
through  your  ignorance  of  our  kinship.  It  is  sacred.  I 
have  not  betrayed  it ;  I  shall  not  betray  it  But  should 


252  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

my  bi'other  remain  here  for  any  length  of  time,  it  will  be 
impossible  to  shield  you  from  discovery.  To  be  honest, 
I  shall  not  ti%y.  I  suspect,  I  hope,  that  discovery  will  be 
the  very  best  thing  that  can  befall  you." 

The  reverend  Huugerford  arrived  with  the  twilight,  a 
fortnight  later.  He  was  an  impulsive,  nervous  man,  whose 
gold-rimmed  eye-glasses  waged  perpetual  warfare  with 
their  nasal  support.  In  appearance  he  was  fair  and  slight- 
ly florid  ;  and  his  forty  years  were  carried  as  jauntily  as 
his  glasses.  His  ministerial  profession  was  carried  more 
jauntily  than  either.  In  fact,  the  reverend  Hungerford 
frankly  confessed  that  he  had  made  a  failure  of  it. 

"  Spiritually,"  he  said,  "  I  am  a  rolling  stone,  and  am 
absolutely  without  the  moss  of  faith.  High  Episcopalian 
and  low  Episcopalian,  Baptist  and  Methodist,  Presbyterian 
and  TJniversalist — I  have  been  each  and  all.  Romanism 
and  Nothingism  are  the  alternatives  left  me.  Pray  for 
me,  that  the  fitter  may  survive  !  " 

Newfield  listened,  took  his  half-jesting  confession  for 
whole  earnest,  and  sympathized  with  soulful  fervor.  Mrs. 
Linnett's  sympathy,  in  particular,  knew  no  bounds. 

"  Creeds,"  she  said,  "  are  naiTOW  ;  and  you,  dear  Mr. 
Hungerford,  are  broad !  Caroline  and  I,  with  other 
chosen  spirits,  have  sadly  felt  the  need  of  a  more  pro- 
gressive creed  than  the  reverend  Druce  professes.  He 
is  admirable,  as  far  as  he  goes  ;  but  he  has  his  limits.  In 
my  opinion,  a  special  Providence  has  sent  you  to  New- 
field.  Do  not  abjure  your  mission  !  " 

"  But,  my  dear  madam,"  he  began,  twitching  off  his 
glasses  in  his  eager  expostulation. 

"  But  me  no  buts,"  she  quoted  in  playful  interruption. 
"  Caroline  and  I  will  not  be  refused  !  " 

"  O  Ma,"  simpered  Caroline. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  253 

The  nerves  of  the  fair  sex  are  proverbially  sensitive. 
Its  olfactory  nerves  are  super-sensitive.  They  detect  an 
odor  of  distinction  about  the  clerical  profession,  even 
though  the  odor  of  sanctity  utterly  fails  to  supplement  it. 
Tiie  reverend  Huugerford  found  himself,  thanks  to  femi- 
nine Xewfield,  a  social  lion.  His  pleasing  appearance  and 
happy  address — above  all,  his  immunity  from  any  trammel- 
ing matrimonial  tie,  adapted  him  for  the  role.  He  did  not 
accept  it,  but  he  submitted  to  it.  His  complaisance  was 
an  additional  feature  in  his  favor,  contrasted,  as  it  was, 
with  Druce's  social  reserve.  The  sectarian  hatchet  was 
buried,  and  a  rush  in  the  lion's  direction  made  by  all  the 
marriageable  females  in  the  town,  spurred  on  by  their 
solicitous  friends  and  relatives.  Moreover,  the  religious 
revolution  conceived  by  Mrs.  Linnett  soon  took  tangible 
shape,  in  consequence  of  which  the  unorthodox  element 
of  Newfield  was  in  a  ferment.  Mrs.  Prude,  pushing  aside 
little  Mrs.  Linnett  by  sheer  force,  headed  it  A  broad 
creed  !  A  new  church  !  An  unorthodox  minister  !  The 
tide  of  Eevised  Testamentism  and  Improved  -  Gospel- 
ism  which  had  swept  over  the  great  cities,  emptied  its 
last  small  ebb-wave  into  Newfield.  Newfield  mistook  the 
ebb- wave  for  the  tide  itself,  and  became  in  its  own  eyes 
supremely  important.  Its  progressive  mind  could  not  be 
confined  to  narrow  creeds,  its  enlightenment  scorned  the 
fillet  of  superstition  !  A  subscription  was  proposed,  and 
resolved  upon,  as  the  fii-st  step  toward  the  establishment 
of  a  new  church,  whose  unorthodox  pulpit  the  reverend 
Hungerford  should  be  called  upon  to  fill  In  the  mean- 
time, he  was  feted,  day  and  night.  Mrs.  Tompson  gave 
him  a  dinner,  upon  which  occasion  not  the  dinner,  but 
the  fair  Susanna,  was  thrown  at  him.  Mi's.  Linnett  hon- 
ored him  with  a  "  tea,"  at  which  Caroline,  in  her  most 


254  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

aesthetic  gown  and  simpering  mood,  officiated.  The 
Hunters  ventured  a  "  party,"  which  presented  Hilly  and 
Cilly  in  all  the  allurements  of  evening  (un)dress;  and 
even  Mrs.  Prude,  in  forlorn  hope  for  poor  old  unclaimed 
sister  Prim,  baked  a  suggestively  bridal- like  cake,  de- 
canted her  choicest  berry-wine,  opened  the  blinds  of  the 
dark,  damp,  and  dismal  "  best-room,"  and  stitched  up  a 
brand-new  calico-shroud,  very  long  about  the  toes  and 
veiy  short  about  the  heels,  for  the  "  orphan-help ;  "  who 
appropriately  laid  herself  out  therein,  to  the  knell  of  a 
falling  ti*ay  and  the  toll  of  smashed  china,  proving,  in 
consequence,  not  only  chief  corpse,  but  likewise,  through 
the  necromancy  of  Mrs.  Prude's  avenging  rod,  chief 
mourner ! 

As  the  social  fever  waned,  the  religious  fever  waxed. 
The  subscription  for  the  new  church  boasted  many  names, 
if  not,  as  yet,  many  dollars.  To  broach  with  due  cere- 
mony the  subject  of  his  election  to  the  pulpit  thereof,  a 
committee  was  appointed  to  wait  upon  the  reverend 
Hungerford,  who  received  the  ladies  forming  it  in  the 
little  parlor  of  the  parochial  residence.  Upon  the  parts 
of  Mrs.  Prude  and  Mrs.  Tompson,  particularly,  there  had 
been  strong  misgivings  as  to  the  orthodoxy  of  crossing 
the  Romish  threshold,  but  these  the  less  bigoted  majority 
over-ruled.  Entering  the  parochial  parlor  under  protest, 
as  it  were,  Mrs.  Prude  showered  tracts  about  her — spirit- 
ual disinfectants  warranted  to  be  specifics  against  Romish 
contagion.  Mrs.  Liunett  shivered  sensitively,  explaining 
that  the  "  possible  proximity  of  holy  water  chilled  her 
delicate  spiritual  organization."  Mrs.  Prude,  however,  as 
self-elected  spokeswoman  of  the  occasion,  found  it  neces- 
sary to  overcome  her  spiritual  delicacy  ;  so  adjusting  her 
spectacles,  and  fixing  her  eyes  upon  her  notes  fiercely  as 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  255 

if  defying  them  to  evade  her,  she  arose  with  a  preparatory 
ahem  ! 

"  Ahem  !  "  she  repeated.     "Ahem  ! " 

The  committee  cleared  its  throat  in  sympathy.  Mrs. 
Prude  extended  her  hand  to  the  reverend  Hungerford, 
with  the  gesture  of  an  amateur  tragedy-queen. 

"  And  palm  to  palm  is  holy  palmer's  kiss !  "  she  an- 
nounced, in  salutatory. 

Sister  Prim  hid  her  virgin  face.  The  Hunters  tittered. 
Caroline  Linnett  sniffed  her  salts. 

"It's  Shakespeai-e,"  asserted  Mrs.  Prude,  resenting  the 
general  disapproval. 

"Shake  what?"  asked  Mrs.  Tompson,  her  domestic 
mind  reverting  to  carpets. 

"Shakespeare,  Mrs.  Tompson, "explained  Mrs.  Linnett, 
with  gracious  supe:*iority,  "was  a  man " 

"  That's  why  his  mind  run  on  kissin',"  snapped  Mrs. 
Tompson. 

"His  mind,  like  all  great,  high,  beautiful  minds,"  de- 
fended Caroline,  "  ran  on  poetry  !  To  quote  a  great 
poet " 

"Peter  Jones,"  interrupted  Milly  Hunter. 

"  The  Pike's  Peak  Poet,  if  you  please,  Miss  Hunter," 
amended  Caroline,  relinquishing  the  quotation. 

"  Really,  ladies !  "  expostulated  the  minister. 

Mrs.  Prude  rustled  her  notes. 

"This  interruption  is  unseemly,"  she  said.  "I  beg 
leave  to  proceed." 

She  straightened  her  spectacles,  held  the  notes  off  at 
arm's  length,  and — proceeded. 

"  Dear  Brother  in  the  Lord  !  "  she  said. 

This  Ciceronian  period  was  worthy  of  acknowledgment. 
Mrs.  Prude  looked  expectantly  about  her. 


256  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Hear  !  Hear!  "  applauded  Mrs.  Linnett,  tapping  her 
vinaigrette  on  the  table.  Mrs.  Prude  resumed. 

"  By  our  Christian  sisters,"  she  began,  truthfully  as  well 
as  politely  giving  "place  aux  dames,"  the  unorthodox 
movement  being  an  exclusively  feminine  one — "  by  our 
Christian  sisters  and  brothers,  we,  the  undersigned — I 
mean,  we  the  present,  have  been — ahem  ! — have  been " 

"  Choosed,"  suggested  Mrs.  Tompson,  in  like  defiance 
of  Prude  and  Murray. 

"  Have  been  elected,"  italicised  Mrs.  Prude,  with  a  with- 
ering look  Tompsonward,  "to  call  upon  you,  in  reference 
to — to " 

"A  new  church,"  prompted  Mrs.  Linnett. 

Mrs.  Prude  scorned  the  suggestion. 

"  In  reference  to  a  religious  movement  at  present  on 
foot— 

"In  hand, "corrected  Milly  Hunter,  holding  up  the  sub- 
scription-list. 

"At  present  on  foot,"  repeated  Mrs.  Prude,  "concern- 
ing  " 

She  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  first  page  of  notes  ; 
turning  it,  she  gazed  helplessly  at  the  reverse-side  hiero- 
glyphics. 

"  Concerning "  she  repeated,  glaring  defiantly  about 

her. 

After  a  moment  the  silence  grew  oppressive.  There 
were  sundry  apologetic  coughs,  and  the  Hunters  giggled. 
The  Hungerford  glasses  went  on  and  off  with  nervous 
rapidity.  Sister  Prim  searched  for  her  spectacles,  found 
them  ;  searched  for  her  handkerchief,  found  it ;  polished 
the  spectacles,  adjusted  them,  and  refolded  and  repocketed 
the  handkerchief ;  then  rising  in  desperation,  she  looked 
over  Mrs.  Prude's  shoulder. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  257 

"Why,  Sister  Prude,"  she  exclaimed,  "you've  got  'em 
tail-end  up." 

Sister  Prude  rectified  the  mistake,  and  continued. 

"  Concerning  the  establishment  of  a  new  -  " 

"Church,"  re-suggested  Mrs.  Linnett,  undiscouraged. 

"  Edifice  !  —  of  a  new  edifice  to  the  Lord,  and  to  the 
pulpit  of  which,  we  are  in  —  in  -  " 

"Invited,"  murmured  Milly  Hunter,  her  thoughts  on  a 
coming  festivity. 

"  Inspired  by  the  Spirit  to  call  you  !  YOU,"  she  capi- 
talized, in  eloquent  peroration  —  "YOU,  the  Keverend  Mr. 
Hungerford  Haruey,  dear  brother  in  the  Lord  !  " 

With  a  complacent  flutter  of  skirts  and  handkerchief, 
Mrs.  Prude  resumed  her  seat,  her  discarded  notes  falling 
like  laurels  about  her.  The  reverend  Hungerford  con- 
sidered the  matter  in  silence.  Finally  with  a  sweep-off 
of  his  glasses  with  one  nasal  contortion,  and  a  sweep-on 
of  them  with  another,  he  spoke. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  there  are  certain  conditions  to 
be  imposed.  What  are  they  ?  M 

The  committee  hesitated.  Mrs.  Prude,  having  taken  the 
initiative,  felt  constrained  to  keep  it. 

"  As  for  me,"  she  said,  "  I  must  beg  that  the  doctrine  of 
damnation  be  insisted  upon." 

"Hum!"  ejaculated  the  minister.  "And  you,  Mrs. 
Linnett  ?  " 

"Dear  Caroline  and  I,"  murmured  Mrs.  Linnett,  with 
heavenward  eyes,  "  seek  the  gospel  of  universal  salvation, 
the  gospel  that  is  all  light,  all  sweetness,  all  tenderness, 


"  Poetry  and  love,  Ma,"  suggested  Caroline,  with  coy 
self-consciousness. 

Mrs.  Linnett  accepted  the  suggestion. 


258  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"Yes,  all  poetry  and  love,  dear  minister ; "  she  said,  "  all 
poetry  and  love  !  " 

Mrs.  Tompson  expostulated. 

"I  recommend,"  she  said,  quoting  from  an  eloquent 
exhortation  published  in  a  recent  number  of  a  religious 
weekly,  "I  recommend  that  a  tireless  watch  be  kept  on 
each  and  every  member  of  the  fold,  lest  a  general  laxity 
— er — um — ahem — lest  a  general  laxity  follow  the  de- 
cline of — the  decline  of — of  individual  vigilty." 

"  Vigiftmce,  Ma  !  "  corrected  Susanna,  blushing  furi- 
ously. 

Mrs.  Linnett  tittered.     Mrs.  Tompson  turned  ireful. 

"Lance,  or  dance,  or  pants,  Miss,"  she  retorted,  with 
increasing  vigor,  "  I  didn't  pay  fur  your  schooliu '  this 
twelve  year,  ter  have  you  sass  me,  throwin '  it  in  my  face 
afore  folks.  You're  a  serpent's  tail,  Susanna  Tompson." 

"  Tooth,  Ma,  tooth ! "  groaned  Susanna. 

"  And  your  requirements,  young  ladies  ? "  asked  the 
minister  of  the  Misses  Hunter. 

"  We,  Cilly  and  I,"  confessed  Milly,"  would  suggest  the 
introduction  of  semi-weekly  sociables  to  attract — ahem  ! 
to  save  the  young  men  of  the  fold  from  the  girls — I  mean 
the  godlessness,  outside  it." 

"From  the  girls  outside  it,"  corroborated  Cilly,  who 
had  not  noticed  her  sister's  amendment. 

The  reverend  Hungerford,  who  had  grimaced  off  his 
glasses  as  he  listened,  now  grimaced  them  on  again. 

"  Ladies,"  he  said,  "  the  issue  of  this  matter  rests  with 
yourselves." 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  gratification  which  he 
silenced  abruptly. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  yet  I  have  heard  your  conditions. 
Now  hear  mine ! " 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  259 

He  paced  nervously  up  and  down  the  little  room,  halt- 
ing successively  before  each  member  of  the  committee, 
as  his  respective  remarks  applied. 

"First,"  he  said,  standing  before  Mrs.  Prude,  "as  to 
tracts.  In  their  way  they  are  good.  In  wise  hands  they 
are  the  possible  instruments  by  which  a  heedles  soul  may 
be  reminded  of  its  Creator  ;  but  commonly,  they  are  more 
prolific  of  harm  than  of  good.  Their  indiscriminate  dis- 
tribution I  shall  not  only  disapprove,  but  forbid.  More- 
over, I  shall  oppose  the  social  slavehood,  denounce  the 
slaveholders,  and  free  the  child-slaves,  existing  under  the 
present  local  domestic  system  of  orphan-help ! " 

He  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Linnett. 

"Secondly,"  he  said,  "I  shall  reprove  all  unchristian 
social  pretensions  and  assumptions — all  silly  airs  and  affec- 
tations and  frivolities — all  foolish  enthusiasms,  and  brain- 
less hero-worship,  from  the  pulpit." 

"Caroline,  my  salts,"  gasped  Mrs.  Linnett,  hysterically, 
The  ruthless  Hungerford  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Tompson. 

"  Thirdly,"  he  said,  "  the  text  of  my  first  sermon  shall 
be,  'And  why  beholdest  thou  the  mote  that  is  in  thy  brother's 
eye,  but  considerest  not  the  beam  that  is  in  thine  own  eye?' 
Such  as  are  blind  to  their  own  beams,  I  shall  feel  it  my 
duty  publicly  to  enlighten." 

His  nose  went  up  and  his  glasses  came  down.  Twice 
he  passed  the  Misses  Hunter  in  silence.  As  he  spoke,  at 
last,  there  was  a  regretful,  an  almost  tender  cadence,  in 
his  lowered  voice. 

"  Finally,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  endeavor  to  elevate,  ennoble, 
enrich  the  lives  of  such  unmanned  women  of  my  congre- 
gation as  are  no  longer  in  their  earliest  youth."  With  a 
comprehensive  glance  he  included  the  Misses  Linnett  and 
Tompson  in  his  address.  "  I  shall  say  to  them  that  human 


260  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

love  is  much,  but  Divine  love  most  of  all — that  the  Lord 
gives,  or  the  Lord  gives  not,  but  that  His  Name  is  blessed 
still !  I  shall  say  to  them,  '  be  not  foolish  virgins,  vainly 
striving  to  kindle  the  marriage-lamp  He  has  not  seen  fit 
to  kindle  for  you,  but  rather,  wise  virgins,  swinging  your 
single  lives  like  vestal  lamps,  chastely,  modestly,  stead- 
fastly, before  the  altar  of  the  Lamb  ! '  " 

The  committee  departed  in  dreary  silence,  its  frigid 
leave-takings  bearing  no  resemblance  to  the  effusive  greet- 
ings of  the  previous  hour.  Mrs.  Tompson,  indeed,  gave 
voice  to  her  indignation  while  the  reverend  Hungerford 
was  still  bowing  them  from  the  door. 

"  Well  !     I  never  !  "  she  ejaculated. 

"  We  have  been  insulted,  grossly  insulted  ! "  cried  Caro- 
line Linnett. 

"For  my  part,  ladies,  I  withdraw  my  subscription,"  an- 
nounced Mrs.  Prude,  undeterred  by  the  unimportant  con- 
sideration that  she  had  subscribed  nothing  to  withdraw. 
"  The  Spirit  has  undeceived  me.  We  have  been  mistaken 
in  him." 

Mrs.  Linnett  sighed  plaintively. 

"A  rude  awakening  is  the  bitter  fate  of  the  dreaming 
soul,"  she  said.  "  Caroline,  my  salts." 

"  He's  a  mean,  spying,  impudent  old  hypocrite,"  sobbed 
Cilly  Hunter,  for  pnce  assertive. 

"  He  is,  Cilly,"  corroborated  Susanna,  with  responsive 
tears. 

But  it  was  left  for  Milly  to  cap  the  climax. 

"He  is  a  Romanist  in  ambush,"  she  said  ;  "  a  Jesuit  in 
disguise.  My  answer  is — declined  without  regret." 

The  motion  passed  unanimously.  And  without  regret 
the  answer  was  alike  given  and  received. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"YOU     SHALL     BE     RIGHTED." 

Some  evenings  later  the  reverend  Hungerford  was  dis- 
cussing this  experience  with  Druce,  who  had  not  been 
unaware  of  the  backsliding  of  his  parishioners.  The  young 
minister  had  failed  rapidly  of  late.  His  always  delicate 
face  was  now  wan  and  pallid,  and  his  eyes,  in  spite  of 
their  feverish  brightness,  were  languid.  His  hands, 
loosely  folded  on  the  desk  before  him,  were  thin  and 
transparent. 

"  I  tell  you  frankly,"  said  Hungerford,  "  that  I  do  not 
envy  you  your  pulpit.  Those  few  women  would  make  a 
Babel  of  Eden.  They  need  a  parson  apiece  to  manage 
them.  How  do  you  do  it,  Druce  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  do  not  do  it.  I  fail,  utterly," 
he  replied,  despondently. 

His  weary  voice,  his  wan  face,  struck  Hungerford  pain- 
fully. He  leaned  across  the  little  desk,  and  laid  bis  hand 
on  Druce's  shoulder. 

"  Out  with  it,  my  boy  !  "  he  said.  "  Something  is  weigh- 
ing heavily  on  that  heart  of  yours.  Is  it  a  question  of  ortho- 
dox profession  versus  unorthodox  conviction — or  only  next 
Sunday's  sermon,  or  to-morrow's  Old  Women's  meeting?" 

"  Neither  one  nor  the  other,"  replied  Druce,  smiling 
faintly.  "  It  is  only  that  this  is  an  anniversary  for  me, 
and  I  have  been — thinking ! " 


262  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  desk  was  littered  with  manuscript,  under  which  a 
small  daguerreotype  case  lay  open,  face  upward.  Druce 
drew  it  out,  arid  handed  it  to  Hungerford. 

"  A  woman !  "  cried  Hungerford.  "  Marriageable  New- 
field,  I  weep  for  thee  !  " 

"  Hush  ! "  cried  Druce,  sharply.  "  That  dream  is  over. 
Such  an  one  can  never  touch  me  again." 

His  elbow  was  resting  on  the  table  ;  his  frail  hand  sup- 
ported his  cheek.  He  spoke  in  a  weary  monotone,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  pictured  face. 

"  It  was  a  childish  attachment,"  he  said,  "  and  it  grew 
with  years.  "When  I  went  to  college,  I  took  her  kiss  with 
me.  When  I  entered  the  ministry,  the  portrait  of  my 
promised  wife  was  on  my  heart  She  was  delicate  and 
had  been  tenderly  reared.  I  could  not  claim  her,  while 
luck  went  against  me,  as  it  did,  for  four  long  years.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  I  was  called  to  a  pulpit  a  hundred 
miles  from  here.  I  sobbed  like  a  girl  over  the  letter  that 
accepted  me.  It  meant  so  much  to  me :  a  start  in  my 
Master's  work — a  home — her !  I  went  to  claim  her,  and 
found  her — in  the  graveyard.  She  had  died  three  days 
before.  Five  years  since  then — five  long  lonely  years,  that 
seem  like  fifty !  With  David,  I  am  tempted  to  cry  out, 
'  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ! ' ' 

Hungerford's  answer  was  a  silent  hand-clasp.  Then 
he  took  his  leave.  Outside  the  house,  however,  he  lin- 
gered before  the  curtained  window  upon  which  the  shadow 
of  the  young  minister's  head  was  visible,  drooping  over 
his  manuscript  like  a  tired  child's. 

"Whom  He  loveth,  Hechasteneth,"  murmured  Hunger- 
ford.  His  eyes  were  suddenly  dim. 

The  parsonage  was  at  one  side  of  the  town,  the  priest's 
house  at  the  other.  Main  Street,  with  its  shops  and 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  263 

saloons,  stretched  between.  It  bad  attained,  of  late,  to 
tbe  dignity  of  gas  ;  no  ghastly  electric  glare,  nor  un- 
canny natural  gas  conflagration,  but  good  old-fashioned 
gas,  burning  steadily  in  yellow  jets  at  the  street  cor- 
ners. As  Hungerford  turned  one  of  these,  his  thoughts 
busy  with  the  young  minister  and  the  simple  story 
of  his  sad  young  life,  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  pedestrian  who  was  hurrying  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  a  sudden  collision  brought  both  to  an 
abrupt  halt.  As  he  grimaced  off  his  treacherous  glasses, 
he  was  horrified  to  see  that  the  victim  of  his  onslaught 
was  a  woman. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  cried;  "I  trust  that  I  have 
not  hurt  you  ?  These  wretched  eyes  of  mine " 

He  paused  suddenly,  with  an  exclamation  of  pleased 
surprise.  As  she  had  attempted  to  pass  him,  the  gas- 
light overhead,  shining  fully  upon  her,  had  revealed  a 
face  strangely  familiar  to  him,  but  which,  for  the  moment, 
he  failed  to  identify. 

"My  girl,"  he  said,  "you  are you  are " 

He  looked  at  her  intently.  A  sudden  light  flashed  into 
his  face. 

"Let  me  see  your  hand,  your  left  hand!"  he  said, 
quickly. 

She  extended  it,  defiantly.  It  was  a  handsome  hand, 
large  and  strong,  yet  finely  moulded.  He  took  it  in  his 
hand  and  looked  at  it  blankly.  It  was  ringless. 

" Five  years  ago,  in  Smith's  Settlement,"  he  said,  "I 
saw  a  ring  placed  upon  this  hand.  Where  is  it  ?  " 

Her  haughty,  defiant  silence  did  not  baffle  him.  In 
her  eyes  he  caught  the  shimmer  of  rising  tears. 

"  My  girl,"  he  said,  "  trouble  and  shame  have  come  to 
you.  Is  that  it?" 


264  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  snatching  away  her  hand,  "  that's  it ! 
Aint  yo'  glad  yo'  know  ?  " 

"You  shall  be  righted!"  he  cried,  but  she  shook  her 
head  hopelessly,  as  she  glided  past  him.  Before  he  could 
follow  her  she  had  melted  like  a  wraith  into  the  night. 
With  glasses  on  and  with  glasses  off,  he  peered  into  the 
darkness,  this  way  and  that,  but  neither  sight  nor  sound 
betrayed  her. 

His  brother  was  not  in  the  library  when  the  excited 
minister  burst  in.  The  meek  young  curate,  just  leaving 
the  library  for  his  room,  turned  back  in  surprise. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ! "  cried  the  reverend  Hungerford  with  fire. 
"  You  can  pray  that  the  wicked  be  confounded  and  the 
righteous  triumphant ! " 

He  vanished  as  he  spoke  the  words,  darting  toward  the 
church  where  he  knew  his  brother  would  be  found  at  this 
hour.  The  curate  gazed  after  him  \vith  an  uncharitable 
suspicion,  for  which  he  afterward  did  penance,  that  the 
reverend  Hungerford  had  been  seduced  by  hospitable 
Newfield  into  taking  the  "glass  too  much." 

Hungerford  entered  the  church  by  the  vestry-door  which 
communicated  with  the  house,  and  stepping  from  the 
vestry  into  the  dark  side-aisle,  turned,  after  an  instant's 
hesitation,  into  a  pew.  His  first  impulse  had  been  to  call 
his  brother,  and  confide  his  story  without  delay,  but  some- 
thing about  the  quiet  church  calmed  and  restrained  him. 

The  church  was  dark,  save  for  the  perpetual  flame  of 
the  altar-lamp  ;  and  deserted,  but  for  the  priest's  still  figure 
kneeling  within  the  altar-rails.  The  starlight  shimmered 
through  the  stained-glass  windows,  bathing  in  a  trans- 
figuring light  the  bare  wood  floor,  the  uncushioned  pews, 
the  plaster  walls.  It  flickered  over  the  white  main 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  265 

altar,  glistened  on  the  gilded  door  of  the  Tabernacle, 
and  bathed  the  ivory-mounted  crucifix  in  a  sheen  of 
light.  Back  of  the  altar  was  a  crudely-painted  panel 
representing  the  Guardian  Angel,  whose  white  wings, 
iu  the  flickering  star-light,  seemed  to  wave  and  rustle 
as  the  wind  swept  through  the  churchyard  trees.  An 
image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  stood  on  one  side-altar ; 
one  of  her  spouse,  St.  Joseph,  on  the  other.  Toward  both 
the  star-light  wavered,  plaj'ing  over  the  white  statues  in 
tremulous,  tinted  rays.  The  only  sounds  that  broke  the 
peaceful  silence  were  the  wind  through  the  churchyard, 
and  the  tinkle  of  decade  against  decade,  as  the  priest  told 
to  listening  Mary  his  chaplet-beads.  The  light  of  the 
altar-lamp  shone  upon  his  lifted  face.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  Tabernacle  door,  where  Hungerford's  followed 
them.  Behind  that  gilt  door — What  ?  A  line  he  had 
heard  somewhere  recurred  to  him  and  haunted  him.  "  A 
miracle  of  love,"  he  repeated  ;  "a  miracle  of  love."  What 
did  the  words  mean  ?  Where  had  he  heard  them  ?  Sud- 
denly he  remembered.  He  had  heard  them  sung,  chanc- 
ing into  a  little  Catholic  chapel  in  the  far  West,  during 
the.  beautiful  rite  of  Benediction.  The  simple  words  had 
struck  his  fancy,  and  he  had  jotted  them  down  as  they 
were  chanted.  As  he  recalled  them,  his  eyes  reverted  to 
the  mystic  door.  Involuntarily,  he  sunk  upon  his  knees. 
His  eyes  filled  with  tears.  What  peace,  what  rest  for  his 
doubt-tossed,  tired  soul,  could  this  sweet  faith  in  the  Heal 
Presence  be  but  his. 

He  rose  noiselessly,  and  stole  into  the  loft.  The  little 
organ  was  open,  and  a  ray  of  starlight  glistened  on  its 
keys.  With  one  hand  he  struck  them  softly,  gliding  from 
chord  to  chord  as  he  adjusted  the  stops.  Then  he  began 
to  sing.  His  voice  was  a  baritone  ;  not  strong,  but  true 


266  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

and  sweet.     He  sung  the  verses  slowly,  improvising  little 
interludes  between  them  : 


He  broods  within  the  silent  shrine, 

As  in  its  nest  the  dove  ; 
His  Flesh  as  bread,  His  Blood  as  wine, 

In  miracle  of  love. 

With  eye  of  faith,  0  look  and  see 

Not  bread,  not  wine  alone, 
But  Him  who  died  for  thee,  for  me, 

That  we  might  be  His  own  ! 

Upon  His  Brow  the  thorns'  sharp  crown — 

Within  His  Hand,  the  reed  ; 
From  sore  Wounds  five,  His  Blood  drips  down, 

His  Eyes  with  sad  tears  bleed. 

Yet  His  soft  smile,  how  sweet,  O  see, 

From  mute  Lips  bruised  apart! 
It  saith,  "  I  gave  My  Life  for  thee, — 

My  child,  give  Me  thine  heart !  " 

Shall  I  deny  His  tender  'quest? — 

Nay,  Christ,  at  Thy  dear  Feet, 
Behold  me,  at  Thy  sweet  behest, 

In  sacrifice  complete. 

In  hyssop  of  Thy  Blood  divine, 

But  wash  me  from  my  guilt — 
Then  with  me,  who  no  more  am  mine, 

O  Christ,  do  as  Thou  wilt ! 

He  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands.  A  touch  on  his 
shoulder  roused  him. 

"  Some  day,  my  brother,"  said  the  priest,  softly,  "  you 
will  sing  those  words  from  your  heart." 


A  SOW  OF  ESAU.  2CT 

The  brothers  went  out  together.  Reaching  the  study, 
Hungerford  broached  the  subject  of  which,  previous  to 
his  entry  into  the  church,  his  mind  had  been  full. 

"I  saw  a  ghost  to-night,"  he  said  ;  "  a  ghost  from  the 
days  when  I  officiated,  ministerially,  at  the  marriage  of 
the  handsomest  girl  in  Smith's  Settlement  To-night  she 
tells  me  that  I  did  not  marry  her.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  You  have  met  her  ?  "  exclaimed  the  priest.  "  Thank 
God." 

"Eh?"  cried  his  brother,  grimacing  off  his  glasses, 
"  you  in  the  secret  ?  The  plot  thickens." 

In  a  few  words,  the  priest  told  him  all  he  knew  of  the 
woman.  He  listened  attentively.  When  the  tale  was 
finished,  he  sprung  up  impulsively. 

"  I  am  going  to  make  a  call,"  he  said.  "  Will  you 
accompany  me  ?  " 

The  priest  took  out  his  watch. 

"It  is  nearly  ten  o'clock  !  "  he  objected. 

"  The  house  I  am  going  to  is  an  all-night  house,"  per- 
sisted Hungerford,  "  and  we  can  reach  it  in  ten  minutes. 
Will  you  go  or  not?" 

"  I  will  go,"  said  the  priest ;  and  the  two  went  out 
together. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CLERGY  VERSUS  LAITY. 

"When,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  brothers  were 
ushered  into  the  Harriman  drawing-room,  it  was,  by 
happy  chance,  deserted.  Steele,  hastily  shutting  behind 
him  the  heavy  door  hidden  by  the  library  portieres,  lest 
the  boisterous  voices  of  his  guests  should  scandalize  his 
clerical  callers,  welcomed  them  with  a  cordiality  by  which 
he  vainly  sought  to  conceal  his  surprise  at  their  late  call. 
His  proffered  hand,  however,  Hungerford  rejected. 

"  I  must  tell  you  frankly,"  he  said,  "  that  I  do  not  come 
as  a  friend." 

Steele  bowed  in  silence,  and  motioned  them  to  seats. 
He  suspected  that  some  of  his  dashing  friends  had  in- 
curred the  clerical  anathema,  and  that  he  was  about  to  be 
called  to  an  account  in  their  stead  ;  in  which  case  of  mis- 
taken zeal,  he  resolved  to  give  the  clergymen  a  severe 
lesson.  His  suspicion,  however,  was  sharply  dissolved 
by  Hungerford's  first  words. 

"Mr.  Harriman,"  he  said,  "upon  our  first  meeting 
your  name  impressed  me  as  a  familiar  one.  An  hour  ago  I 
recalled  the  circumstances  of  my  previous  acquaintance 
with  it.  In  consequence,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  for  the 
history,  as  you  know  it,  of  the  poor  girl  known  here — 
God  help  her  ! — only  as  Freshet  Sal." 

Steele  started,  and  then  flushed  angrily.     The  com- 


A   SON   OF  ESAU.  269 

maud  veiled  by  the  courteously-worded  request,  did  not 
escape  him.  It  set  him  at  his  worst.  His  obligations  as 
a  host,  as  a  gentleman,  were  forgotten. 

"To  a  parson,"  he  sneered,  "  the  story  of  a  Magdalen, 
especially  of  such  a  handsome  Magdalen — 

Hungerford  interrupted  him. 

"When  you  imply  that  she  is  a  Magdalen,"  he  said, 
"you  are  a  coward,  a  traitor,  and  a  liar.  And  you  know 
it!" 

Steele  sprang  up,  white  with  wrath. 

"  You  are  under  my  roof,"  he  panted,  "  and  as  you 
doubtlessly  remember,  your  cloth  protects  you.  But  if 
you  think  that  you  can  insult  me  with  impunity " 

He  fell  back,  quailing  under.  Hungerford's  relentless 
words. 

"  You  are  a  traitor  to  the  dead  ;  a  coward,  because  your 
victim  is  a  woman  ;  a  liar,  since  you  know,  even  as  I  know 
it,  that  she  was  your  dead  brother's  wife,  that  she  is  his 
lawful  widow,  the  mother  of  his  legitimate  child." 

"You — you  are "  stammered  Steele,  with  paling 

lips. 

"  The  minister  who  married  her." 

The  great  bronze  clock,  swinging  its  gilded  pendulum 
in  the  adjacent  hall,  struck  the  eleventh  hour.  Voices 
floated  from  the  library.  Against  the  window  the  night- 
wind  brushed,  now  and  again  rustling  a  dead  leaf  against 
the  pane. 

"I  see,"  said  Steele,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "that  I 
shall  have  to  tell  you  the  whole  story." 

He  took  a  hasty  glance  into  the  hall,  and  drew  the  por- 
tieres closer.  Then  he  turned  back  to  his  guests  with  a 
taunting  laugh. 

"The  story,"  he  said,  "is  a  love-story,  including  ring 


270  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

and  register  and  parson's  fee.  Yet  it  is  a  story  of  love 
only;  not  of  marriage.  Do  I  offend  ?  Peccavi!  I  forgot 
that  I  spoke  not  to  men,  but  to  clergymen.  Can  the 
cloth  absolve  me  ?  " 

They  passed  the  insult  in  silence.  With  insolent  non- 
chalance he  flung  himself  upon  a  couch  heaped  with 
sumptuous  cushions,  telling  his  story  lightly,  between 
puffs  of  his  cigar. 

"Between  five  and  six  years  ago,"  he  said,  my  "brother 
met  a  tragic  death  in  a  little  mining-camp  in  the  Sierras. 
On  his  death-bed  he  sent  for  me,  but  he  was  dead  before 
I  reached  him.  The  woman  Sal  stood  by  his  bier.  She 
claimed  to  have  been  his  wife,  but  her  certificate  was — 
ahem  ! — missing  ;  and  the  minister  said  to  have  performed 
the  little  ceremony  had  vanished,  none  knew  where.  If  I 
laughed  at  her  little  story,  who  could  blame  me?  Never- 
theless, she  had  a  claim  upon  me.  Jack  had  left  a  legacy 
behind  him — an  unborn  child." 

From  the  library  echoed  a  shout  of  ribald  laughter. 
The  clock  in  the  hall  chimed  the  quarter-hour.  Outside 
the  night-wind  moaned  like  an  unshrived  ghost. 

"I  returned  to  the  camp,  when  Jack  was  laid  at  rest," 
he  said,  "  with  a  softened  heart  for  the  woman.  She  was 
a  regally  handsome  creature,  and  her  passionate  eyes 
haunted  me.  Jack's  dead  face,  too,  had  pleaded  for 
her.  What  if  her  tale  should  be  true?  The  rumor 
of  a  previous  lover  reached  me — 'Engineer  Jim,'  whom 
her  coquetries  had  driven  from  the  camp  before  my 
brother  reached  it.  But  beauty  will  have  besiegers. 
I  thought  no  less  of  her  for  that.  In  fact,  I  came  to  be- 
lieve her  honest.  In  the  days  of  her  youth,  some  canting 
parson  had  brought  her  up  in  the  way  she  should  go,  and 
she  had  not  departed  from  it  intentionally.  Jack  had  de- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  271 

ceived  her.  She  had  never  been  his  legal  wife,  she  was 
not  his  legal  widow ;  another  and  less  worthy  woman, 
through  a  clerical  ceremony  which  preceded,  by  years, 
your  Reverence's  little  farce,  having  pre-empted  both 
honorable  titles." 

"  The  name  of  the  woman — your  proof ! "  cried  Hun- 
gerford. 

"  The  Christian  name  of  the  woman,  now  dead,  was  Kose  ; 
of  her  maiden-name  there  is  no  record  ;  her  married  name, 
— when  Jack  married  her  she  was  a  divorced  wife — I  will 
tell  you  when  I  have  finished  my  story.  My  investigations 
took  time  to  complete.  In  the  meantime,  Jack's  child  was 
born — a  hopeless  cripple.  As  I  said  before,  I  felt  a  duty 
to  it.  I  felt  a  duty  likewise  to  my  dead  brother's  name. 
Therefore  I  gave  the  woman  her  choice  between  surren- 
dering the  child  to  us,  and  guarding  the  secret  of  its 
parentage,  thus  shielding  the  Harriman  name.  When  she 
chose  the  latter  course,  as  the  lesser  of  the  two  evils,  I 
imposed  one  inexorable  condition — that  she  should  bring 
the  child  to  Newfield  and  live  in  dependence  upon,  in 
submission  to,  me.  My  threat  to  rob  her  of  her  child,  for 
which  she  has  the  savage,  passionate  fondness  of  the 
tigress  for  her  young,  compelled  her  to  accept  it.  The 
rest  you  know.  The  humble  Freshet  cabin  was  her  own 
choice.  God  knows  I  have  grudged  her  nothing.  My 
conscience  does  not  reproach  me  on  that  score.  The  child 
has  had  the  constant  care  of  our  own  physician  ;  the  woman 
every  comfort  she  would  accept  from  my  hands.  She 
is  bitter,  because  her  shame  galls  her  proud,  and  I  ad- 
mit, pure  spirit.  Her  passionate  nature  has  not  been  able 
to  resist  an  occasional  open  defiance  of  me,  in  revenge. 
In  consequence,  Newfield  suspects  a  scandal.  You  won- 
der, perhaps,  that  I  submit.  I  have,  alas !  no  choice. 


272  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

You,  who  know  the  world,  will  understand  that  having 
hid  the  secret  in  the  beginning,  I  am  compelled,  in  self- 
defence,  to  hide  it  to  the  end.  Our  respective  positions — 
the  woman's  and  mine — are,  in  fact,  reversed.  I  once  held 
her  in  my  power.  She  now  holds  me  in  hers.  Happily 
for  me,  she  is  unconscious  of  her  advantage.  You  are  sur- 
prised, perhaps,  at  my  reckless  frankness.  I  trust  to  your 
clerical  charity  and  discretion,  as  well  as  to  your  honor. 
To  publish  her  shame  would  be  to  do  the  woman  no  good  ; 
to  desecrate  the  grave  of  my  brother,  to  break  the  heart 
of  my  good  old  father — one  of  whose  tenderest  memories 
is  that  of  his  '  little  lad,  as  grow'd  up  and  died. '  Finally, 
the  child's  death  is  now  a  matter  of  weeks — of  mouths,  at 
longest.  It  is  the  woman's  own  wish  to  remain,  mean- 
time, in  the  Freshet  cabin.  Whenever,  wherever  she 
goes,  I  will  provide  for  her.  Freshet  Sal's  true  story 
you  have  now  heard  to  its  end." 

"  Your  proof !  "  re-demanded  Hungerford,  inexora- 
bly. 

With  a  triumphant  smile,  Steele  stepped  toward  the 
library.  Flinging  open  the  oaken  door,  he  called  to 
some  one  within.  In  answer  to  his  summons,  appeared 
Rundell. 

"  Allow  me  to  present  the  divorced  first  husband  of  my 
brother's  legal  wife  and  widow,  Rose  Harriman,  previously 
Rose  Rundell,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  down  the  drawing- 
room  together.  "Rundell,  genuflect  to  the  reverend 
Harneys." 

"  Will  you  swear  to  this?  "  demanded  Hungerford. 
From  his  breast  he  took  a  pocket-Bible,  and  laid  it  on 
an  adjacent  table. 

For  the  first  time,  Steele  quailed.  Rundell,  after  a 
scornful  glance  at  him,  stepped  forward. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  273 

"  I  swear  it,  willingly,"  he  said.  And  laid  his  hand  on 
the  book,  and  took  the  oath. 

As  the  brothers,  convinced  and  sorrowful,  departed, 
Steele  turned  to  Rundell. 

"  You  beat  the  devil ! "  he  ejaculated.  "  The  d— d 
words  stuck  in  my  throat." 

"  I  swore  to  the  truth,"  growled  Rundell,  doggedly. 

"  To  the  truth !  "  repeated  Steele,  bewildered,  "  but— 
but " 

"But — but — "mocked  Rundell,  "you  are  no  whit 
brighter  than  your  reverend  Harneys,  or  you  would  di- 
vine the  mental  reservation  by  which  I  omitted  to  explain 
that  the  second  marriage  ceremony,  null  and  void  in  con- 
sequence— did  not  follow,  but  preceded  the  divorce,  by  a 
half-year  !  " 

"  The  same  mental  reservation,"  sneered  Steele,  "  by 
which  you  fooled  me  so  successfully  six  years  ago.  Per- 
haps you  think  I  thank  you  for  your  oath  to-night.  On 
the  contrary,  I  curse  you  for  it.  But  for  you,  no  lies,  no 
perjurious  oaths,  were  needed  in  my  defence.  You  have 
been  the  evil  genius  of  my  life,  even  as  you  were  of  my 
brother's.  When,  at  the  time  of  Jack's  death,  you  hid  the 
truth,  who  alone  knew  it — when  you  lied  to  me,  swore 
that  his  marriage  was  illegal,  that  the  woman's  virtue  was 
but  assumed,  to  arouse  my  sympathy ;  you  did  me  a  bad 
turn,  Rundell.  You  did  me  a  worse  one,  when,  too  late 
by  far  for  me  to  avow  it,  you  revealed  the  truth.  My  life 
since  has  been  one  long  fear,  even  as  poor  wronged  Sal's 
has  been  one  long  anguish.  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
your  motive  for  wishing  to  hold  me  in  your  power?  / 
learned  too  much,  when  I  went  to  the  camp,  of  my  brother's 
life  and  death.  You  loved  your  wife,  though  your  brutality 
drove  her  from  you.  When  Jack,  in  his  boyish  folly, 


274  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

swore  to  protect  her,  you  vowed  to  be  revenged.  With 
Jack's  death  in  Smith's  Settlement  your  slow  revenge  was 
consummated.  Virtually,  you  were  his  murderer.  Sal 
told  me  as  much,  five  years  ago.  Last  week,  Rose,  on  her 
death-bed,  confirmed  her." 

"Rose dead  ! "  gasped  Rundell,  reeling  to  a  chair. 

"  Dead  and  buried  !  " 

With  an  effort  Rundell  recovered  himself. 

"  Come !  come  ! "  he  remonstrated,  forcing  a  smile, 
though  his  lips  were  ashen  ;  "  such  insane  talk  is  d — d 
nonsense  ;  and  as  for  dead  men's  accusations,  and  idle 
threats,  they're  -neither  here  nor  there,  and  we  can't  waste 
time  on  them.  You  stand  by  me,  and  I'll  stand  by  you  ! 
We  are  useful,  reciprocally  ;  and,  hang  me  if,  in  spite  of 
your  curses,  I  don't  like  you !  We  understand  each  other 
pretty  well,  my  boy,  and  it's  Satan's  choice  between  us. 
We'll  call  the  past  square,  and  begin  a  new  deal.  Shake 
hands  on  it." 

But  Steele  rejected  his  hand. 

"  Be  devilish  careful  that  the  new  game's  no  bluff  one," 
he  warned,  sulkily. 


CHAPTEK   XXVIL 

DRUCE'S  CROWN  DRAWS  NEAR. 

The  following  day  Hungerford  passed  in  solitary  medi- 
tation. He  thought  the  case  over  and  over  until  his  brain 
reeled,  but  he  could  see  no  gleam  of  hope  with  which  to 
lighten  Sal's  despairing  heart.  If  the  tale  had  been  Steele 
Harriraan's  only,  he  would  have  insisted  upon  further 
proof ;  but  Kundell's  prompt  corroboration  and  oath 
seemed  to  place  the  matter  beyond  doubt.  In  the  after- 
noon he  went  to  the  parsonage,  and  confided  the  story  to 
Druce,  who  heard  it  with  mingled  relief  and  pain.  Cruel 
story  though  it  was,  it  did  not  verify  Dr.  Keene's  suspi- 
cions. 

"I  think  with  you,"  he  said,  as  Hungerford  concluded, 
"  that  this  sad  story  must  be  the  true  one.  Harriman 
could  scarcely  have  fabricated  it,  or  have  been  corrob- 
orated so  promptly,  taken  as  he  was,  by  surprise.  I  be- 
lieve that  any  attempt  to  prove  the  girl  a  legal  wife  will 
fail,  and  result  only  in  giving  publicity  to  her  misfortune, 
and  to  the  stain  on  the  Harriman  escutcheon,  which  old 
John  Harriman  believes  to  be  without  reproach.  If  any 
good  could  come  to  the  woman  from  betraying  her  secret, 
no  Harriman,  innocent  or  guilty,  should  stand  in  the  way. 
As  it  is,  to  respect  the  woman's  silence,  since  the  child 
cannot  live  to  suffer  by  it,  is,  I  think,  our  sad  duty." 

Huno-erford  rose. 


276  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"I  promised  her,"  lie  said,  "  tbat  she  should  be  righted. 
That  I  cannot  fulfil  my  promise  is  a  hard  thing  to  tell 
her,  and  a  harder  thing  for  her  to  hear." 

Druce  had  followed  him  to  the  door.  The  afternoon 
sun  shone  on  his  chastened  face,  on  his  sad,  calm  eyes,  on 
his  patient,  tender  lips. 

" Life  is  a  hard  thing  for  us  all,"  he  said.  "It  is  the 
cross,  but  after  it " 

The  setting  sun,  smoldering  in  the  western  heavens, 
burst  into  ruddy  glory.  He  held  his  arms  toward  it  with 
transfigured  face. 

"After  it,"  he  murmured,  with  a  tremulous  sigh  of 
happiness,  "comes  the  crown!" 

Around  his  head  the  golden  sun-rays  flickered.  It 
seemed  to  Hungerford  as  if  already  Druce's  crown  was 
near. 

"  There  is  the  light  of  another  world  on  his  face,"  he 
said  to  his  brother,  a  few  hours  later,  as  they  walked  to- 
gether toward  Sal's  cabin.  "  The  chastened  flesh  is  free- 
ing the  pure  spirit.  Already  its  white  wings  are  pluming 
for  heavenward  flight." 

"  God  speed  it !  "  murmured  the  priest,  lifting  his  hat. 

The  Freshet  waters  were  gurgling  softly.  The  breeze, 
as  it  blew  from  them,  was  cool  and  moist  with  their  spray. 
Over  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  brooded  the  twilight 
shadows.  The  cabin  door  was  ajar.  Sal  was  moving 
about  the  interior,  engaged  in  some  domestic  duty.  By 
the  window,  Waif  was  nestling  contentedly  in  Engine 
Jim's  brawny  arms. 

As  the  visitors  passed  in,  Sal  introduced  them. 

"  This  'yer's  th'  old  parson  ez  stood  by  me  ter  th'  Set- 
tlement, in  time  o'  need,"  she  said,  "  an'  th'  Father  'yer 
an'  yo'  ain't  fur  bein'  strangers.  This  'yer's  Jim." 


A  SON   OF  ESAU.  277 

Jim  shuffled  forward  to-  shake  hands. 

"  I'm  de-lighted  ter  see  yo  both ! "  he  said,  cordially. 
"  Jest  de-lighted  !  " 

"This,"  explained  the  priest  to  Hungerford,  "is  the 
first  lover,  of  whom  Harriman  spoke." 

"  Ah ! "  Hungerford's  glasses  were  grimaced  off,  and 
readjusted  in  a  twinkling.  "  If  the  strength  of  your  heart, 
my  man,  is  to  be  judged  by  your  strength  of  hand,  I 
should  say  that  the  woman  you  love  can  rely  upon 
you." 

As  Hungerford  laughingly  rubbed  his  crushed  mem- 
ber, Jim  looked  abashed,  and  sheepishly  took  his  leave. 

"Yo're  right,"  said  Sal,  as  her  eyes  followed  him. 
"Th"  woman  he  loves  kin  an'  does  rely  onter  him." 

"And  what  about  the  woman  who  loves  him?"  asked 
Hungerford.  "  You  feel  your  cross  heavy,  my  girL 
Think  what  it  would  be  if  you  could  not  tell  that  honest 
fellow  that  you  are  sinned  against,  not  sinning  !  " 

She  crouched  down  on  the  little  hearthstone,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands.  Sinned  against !  The  two  words 
told  her  that  her  wrong  was  irreparable,  that  Hungerford 
could  not  right  her.  She  had  not  realized  how  much 
faith  she  had  placed  in  his  impulsive  promise,  until  now, 
when  it  was  failing  her.  He  read  her  aching  heart,  and 
his  own  ached  for  her. 

"  I — I  believed  that  I  could  right  you,  Sal,"  he  said, 
brokenly.  "  I  tried  my  best,  God  knows  1 " 

"Thank  yo'  kindly,"  she  sobbed. 

He  took  a  few  turns  through  the  room,  whisking  off 
and  on  his  glasses  with  extraordinary  rapidity.  Then 
he  halted  before  her,  laying  his  hand  on  her  bowed 
head. 

"My  girl,"  he  said,  "something  tells  me  that  you  are 


278  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

fond  of  this  Jim.  He  offers  you  a  new  and  honorable 
life.  Accept  it." 

Her  lifted  face  was  resolute. 

"  While  thar's  th'  soil  o'  shame  on  my  hand,"  she  said, 
"as  dead  lips  kissed  onter  it,  I'll  never  put  it  inter  th' 
clean  palm  o'  th'  man  as  loves  me — o'  th1  man — I — love ! " 


CHAPTER    XXVm. 

KINGSLEY     SAYS     GOOD-BYE. 

During  the  ensuing  winter,  the  Newfield  banker  went 
from  bad  to  worse.  Indulgence  increased  to*  dissipation, 
and  his  face,  reflective  of  his  soul,  took  on  a  grossness 
whose  tale  all  eyes  could  read.  Scandalous  suspicions 
concerning  him  filtered  through  masculine  sieves  into 
feminine  receivers,  and  reports  injurious  not  only  to  the 
banker,  but  likewise  to  the  bank,  were  soon  in  circula- 
tion. The  result  was  financial  rather  than  social.  Face 
to  face  with  him,  there  were  few  who  could  resist  the 
magnetic  personal  charm  which  still  stood  him  in  good 
stead  ;  but  out  of  his  presence,  his  dissipations,  extrav- 
agances, and  reckless  speculations  were  added  to  one 
another,  and  prophetic  heads  shaken  over  the  ominous 
sum-total.  Individual  distrust  bred  general  distrust,  and 
faith  in  the  "  Harriman  luck "  began  to  waver.  Rival 
banks,  taking  advantage  of  the  turn  in  the  tide  of  public 
favor,  started  and  sustained  a  hue  and  cry  against  him, 
and  anonymous  reports  were  circulated  as  to  the  pre- 
carious financial  condition  of  the  Newfield  Bank.  The 
Newfield  banker  set  his  teeth,  and  plunged  into  deeper 
dissipation,  wilder  extravagances,  more  reckless  specula- 
tion, than  before.  Newfield  understood  the  defiance,  and 
gloated  over  "  th'  pluck  o'  it ! " 

"  Th'  young    chap's   got  th'   grit   o'  th'   old   Harry," 


280  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

chuckled  one  old  Adam,  "  an'  by  blazes,  I'll  stick  ter 
him  ! " 

Adam  had  his  followers,  and  in  due  time,  the  fickle 
tide  of  opinion  turned  again,  reinstating  both  bank  and 
banker  in  public  favor. 

"  Didn't  I  say  ez  he'd  got  th'  grit  o'  th'  old  Harry  ?  " 
triumphed  Adam ;  "  an'  th'  old  Harry,  he  takes  keer  o' 
his  own !  " 

"  He  must  take  uncommon  fine  care  of  you,  then  !"  re- 
torted a  sharp-tongued  neighbor. 

"No,"  responded  Adam,  unabashed,  "he  hain't  got 
no  time  left  over,  he's  thet  thar  much  okkerpied  wi' 
yo' !  " 

The  crisis  safely  passed,  the  banker  drew  a  breath  of 
intense  relief.  Like  Hamlet's  madness,  his  apparently 
reckless  defiance  of  Newfield  had  had  its  method.  Nev- 
ertheless he  had  run  a  risk  greater,  almost,  than  he  cared 
to  realize.  He  understood  the  menace  of  the  failure  of 
public  faith  in  him,  no  less  a  menace  because  the  faith 
was  now  re-established.  He  knew  that  he  would  be  wise 
to  heed  its  warning. 

Isolde,  meanwhile,  was  living  her  life  like  one  in  a 
bad  dream,  her  one  consolation  being  her  baby — the  hu- 
man pillow  upon  which  her  tired  heart  rested.  Her  chief 
effort,  of  late,  had  been  to  hide  Steele's  dissipation  from 
his  father,  and  owing  to  the  old  man's  simple  life,  the  task 
was  not  difficult.  He  retired,  except  on  rare  occasions, 
at  a  primitively  early  hour,  so  that  his  son's  nightly  ex- 
cesses were  not  suspected  by  him,  and  if,  as  was  seldom 
the  case,  he  was  present  at  the  late  breakfast  at  which 
Steele  appeared  heavy-eyed  and  listless,  with  appetite  only 
for  coffee  and  seltzer,  his  physical  deterioration  was  as- 
cribed, as  Isolde  contrived  that  it  should  be,  to  too  close 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  281 

application  to  the  bank.  Happily,  Steele  himself,  even  in 
his  -worst  moments,  seconded  her  deception.  There  was 
a  tenderness  in  his  heart  for  his  simple  old  father  that 
even  yet  he  had  not  outlived  ;  and  he  knew  better  even 
than  Isolde,  that  to  discover  a  flaw  in  his  idol  would  break 
the  old  man's  heart.  Among  the  house's  nightly  fre- 
quenters, of  whose  real  type  he  had  no  suspicion,  he  came 
and  went  at  will,  in  almost  pathetic  pride  and  happiness. 
There  was  not  one  of  them  but  treated  him  with  defer- 
ence and  respect,  instinctively  concealing  their  real  selves 
from  his  unsuspecting  eyes.  His  personal  enjoyment  of 
their  society  was  supplemented  by  his  pride  in  the  son  who 
had  attracted  such  a  brilliant  circle  about  him.  In  his 
simple  eyes  they  were  all  as  kings  and  princes — "grand- 
folk,  friends  of  his  son  Steele."  One  night  when,  contrary 
to  his  usual  custom,  he  had  lingered  till  the  departure  of 
the  guests,  he  looked  after  them  with  tenderly  regretful 
eyes. 

"I  wish,"  he  murmured,  "  as  how  mother  had  lived  fur 
ter  see  'em.  She  was  powerful  fond  o'  cump'ny-folk,  was 
mother — powerful  fond  !  We  never  had  none  fine  enough 
fur  her  in  them  days.  In  course,  I  warn't  the  man  ter 
bring  'em  round  her.  I  wish  as  how  she'd  lived  ter  see 
an'  know  'em — through  my  own  son  Steele." 

For  some  time  after  Steele's  defiance  of  Rundell,  the 
man  absented  himself  from  the  Harriman  house.  Isolde 
drew  a  breath  of  happy  relief.  Of  her  many  uncongenial 
guests,  he  was  still  the  most  abhorrent  to  her.  Later, 
however,  he  reappeared.  In  the  meantime  Isolde  received 
an  anonymous  letter. 

It  arrived  one  morning  as  she  sat  at  breakfast,  Kings- 
ley,  who  had  been  their  guest  over-night,  seated  by 
her  side,  Steele  scanning  his  paper  opposite  her.  His 


282  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

father  had  taken  his  simple  meal  hours  earlier,  and  was 
already  on  his  way  to  town.  Outside  the  window,  in  the 
morning  sunshine,  John  Steele,  now  a  noble  boy,  was  leap- 
ing in  his  nurse's  anns. 

The  letter  in  question  was  one  of  three  letters  lying  by 
her  plate.  The  first  was  an  invitation  to  some  social  en- 
tertainment ;  the  second,  a  long  missive  from  her  mother, 
which  she  laid  aside  for  perusal,  later  ;  the  third  was 
rose-tinted  and  musk-scented,  and  directed  in  a  scrawling, 
unfamiliar  hand.  Isolde  broke  the  envelope  with  a  feel- 
ing of  distaste.  The  contents  were  without  address  or 
signature,  and  consisted  of  only  two  lines. 

"  Ask  your  husband  the  name  of  the  man  who  led  Mag- 
dalen across  the  chasm.  He  knows  him  !  " 

She  read  the  words  and  re-read  them,  a  half-dozen, 
a  dozen  times  ;  then  the  letter  dropped  from  her  lax  hold. 
There  was  a  rushing  as  of  angry  waters  in  her  ears  ;  there 
were  letters  of  fire  flaming  before  her  eyes  ;  there  was 
something,  a  terrible  something,  cold  and  heavy,  clutch- 
ing her  numb  heart.  She  tried  to  lift  her  hand  to  it,  but 
it  failed  to  obey  her.  A  darkness  closed  about  her,  dense, 
and  chill,  and  horrible  ;  an  awful  gulf  opened  below  her, 
— a  black  vacuum  of  fathomless  depth !  She  was  falling 
— falling 

"  Harriman  !  "  cried  Kingsley,  catching  her  slender 
figure  as  it  swayed  toward  him. 

The  darkness  was  lifting.  Some  one  was  bearing  her 
out  of  the  black  gulf —up,  up,  to  the  air  and  daylight. 
As  her  eyes  reopened,  they  fell  upon  the  rose-tinted 
letter.  She  grasped  it  and  held  it  toward  her  husband. 
He  read  it,  then  tossed  it  across  her  to  Kingsley,  look- 
ing at  her  in  blank  despair. 

"Is it true?"  she  panted. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  283 

Her  anguish  maddened  him.  He  was  about  to  hurl  a 
brutal  defiance  at  her,  when  Kingsley  interrupted  him. 
His  face  was  suddenly  drawn  and  white,  and  his  eyes 
wore  a  look  of  hopeless  pain,  but  his  voice  was  calm  and 
resolute. 

"  It  is  true,  Mrs.  Harriman,"  he  cried.  "  Your  hus- 
band knows  the  man.  You  too,  know  —  Ralph  Kings- 
ley!" 

Even  as  she  recoiled,  a  look  of  intense  relief  flashed 
into  her  face.  It  hurt  him  cruelly,  but  he  made  no  sign. 
Steele  stared  incredulously  at  him  for  an  instant,  doubt- 
ing if  he  had  heard  aright.  As  he  realized  the  full 
significance  of  the  words,  the  shamed  blood  surged  to 
his  face. 

"  By  heaven  !  "  he  began,  recklessly. 

"  Not  a  word  !  "  interrupted  Kingsley,  in  a  voice  of 
stern  command.  Then  he  turned  back  to  Isolde. 

"I  suppose,  Mrs.  Harriman,"  he  said,  "that  there  is 
nothing  left  for  me  to  say  to  you,  save — good-by  !  " 

As  she  hesitated  there  was  a  tap  at  the  window,  and  her 
baby's  face  looked  at  her  through  the  pane.  His  wee  red 
mouth,  like  a  crushed  rose-bud,  was  pressed  against  the 
glass.  She  heard  his  coo  and  gurgle — the  inarticulate  yet 
eloquent  language  of  love's  sweetest  phase  —  child  -  love. 
Yielding  to  a  tender  impulse,  she  seized  Kingsley's  hand 
in  both  her  own. 

"  You  are  my  baby's  godfather,"  she  said.  "  It  was  the 
wish  of  my  heart  that — she — should  be  his  godmother ! 
For  her  sake,  I  say  to  you,  No.  '  Good-by '  is  not  the  only 
word  left  you  !  There  is  a  nobler  word  which  I  beg,  I 
pray  that  you  will  speak.  It  is — reparation  !  " 

His  pale  face  flushed  suddenly  and  vividly. 

"  Oh,  impossible  !  impossible  !  "  he  cried. 


2Si  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

She  relinquished  his  hand  and  stood  back,  looking  at 
him  with  sudden  proud  disdain. 

"  Then  I  admit,"  she  said,  "  that  the  only  word  left  you 
is  '  good-by.} " 

He  Lowed,  and  went  in  silence. 

That  morning,  for  the  first  time  since  the  bitter  hour 
when  she  had  watched  with  tearless  eyes  the  dreams,  the 
hopes,  the  ambitions,  the  consummations  of  her  artist- 
youth,  fade  from  flame  to  ashes,  she  took  up  her  pen. 

This  is  what  she  wrote. 


MAGDALEN.* 

Pity  her,  pray  for  her, 

Sisters,  who  scorn  her  ! 

Turn  not  away  with  that  merciless  air. 

Somewhere,  to-night,  some  poor  mother  may  mourn  her, 
Sobbing  to  Mary  her  shame  and  her  pr&yer. 

Once  she  was  pure  as  an  innocent  child  is — 
Once  she  was  lovely  to  angels  and  men. 

Pity  her,  pray  for  her,  who  now  defiled  is — 
Save  her,  our  poor  Magdalen  ! 

Mary,  called  Magdalen, 
Sinner,  unchaste  one, 

Christ  forgave  freely,  ' '  because  she  loved  much. '' 
Shall  we,  like  Pharisees,  scorn  our  debas'd  one, 
Shudder  away  from  her  glance  and  her  touch  ? 

Spurning  her,  shunning  her,  sister  and  woman — 
Shrinking  aside  lest  our  robes  be  defiled  ? 
Christian  we  are  not,  nor  even  kind  human, 
Christ,  to  Thy  prodigal  child  ! 

*  Republished  by  kind  permission  of  the  Boston  Pilot. 


A  SOJT   OF  ESAU.  285 

Little  we  pure  women 

Know  of  her  anguish, 

Scorched  by  the  flames  of  our  blush  and  our  sneer ; 

Little  we  know  what  her  spirit  might  vanquish, 
Entered  once  more  in  Life's  ranks  as  our  peer. 
What  is  her  brazen  bold  smile  bnt  a  mask  for 
Woman-face  seared  by  a  shame  past  compare  ? 
God's  iior  man's  mercy  her  mute  lips  dare  ask  for — 
Her's  is  the  smile  of  despair ! 


Yet  she  is  sinned  against, 
Sorely  as  sinning  ! — 
(Stand  forth,  ye  tempters,  unmasked  in  your  guile  ; 

Dissolute  men,  who  to-night  may  be  winning 
Sweets  from  pure  lips  that  your  soiled  lips  defile  ! 

Forth  in  your  lust  and  your  craven  dishonor  ! 
Stand  by  her  side  in  her  shame  as  her  sin  ! 
Scarlet  the  letter  the  world  brands  upon  her — 
Share  it,  ye  sinners  akin !  ) 


Bid  from  your  portals  their 
Gilded  depravement ; 
Shun  them  as  lepers  unclean  for  pure  wives ! 

Turn  to  their  victim,  the  girl  of  the  pavement — 
Take  her  within  the  white  fold  of  your  lives. 
We  alone  stand  between  her  and  the  river  ; 
Spurn  her,  and  listen  1 — its  tide  tolls  her  knell. — 
'JSeath  its  dark  waves, — shrive  we  not,  nor  forgive  her, 
Opens  the  suicide's  hell  I 


Save  her,  in  name  of  Christ's 

Pitiful  Mother ! 
Back  from  the  dark  brink,  O  call,  ere  too  late  ! 

We  are  her  keepers,  as  Cain  of  his  brother  ; 
If  her  soul  perish,  on  us  be  her  fate  ! 


286  A  SOW  OF  ESAU. 

Cant  not  of  Christ  as  her  only  Forgiver, 
Stoning  her,  meantime,  from  hearthstone  and  door. 
Echo  His  words,  and  with  Him  hless  and  shrive  her 
"Magdalen!  Peace!  Sin  no  more!'1 


Some  day  — may  God  speed  it — 
Mother  who  mourns  her, 
Sobbing  to  Mary  your  prayer  and  your  shame  ! 

Some  day,  the  Pharisee-world  that  now  scorns  her 
Once  more  shall  honor  the  Magdalen's  name. 

Purged  then  by  tears,  as  soiled  lily  by  rain  is, 
She,  like  evangel,  shall  preach  unto  men  : 
" Be  sins  as  scarlet,  repentance  not  Taints! — 

Christ  shrited  the  first  Magdalen  !  '' 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

EXIT     RUNDELL. 

The  second  winter  of  Isolde's  marriage  came  to  an  ab- 
rupt end.  A  wintry  blizzard  of  extreme  severity  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  phenomenal  rise  of  temperature,  culminating 
in  a  series  of  balmy  days  which  proved  to  be  the  har- 
bingers of  a  premature  and  unseasonably  sultry  spring. 
The  pioneers  of  the  town  croaked  ominously  of  the  spring 
three  and  thirty  years  earlier,  when  just  such  a  sudden 
thaw  had  melted  the  snows  and  sent  the  swollen  streams 
pouring  in  floods  down  the  mountains,  till  the  overflow  of 
the  Arkansas  resulted  in  the  fatal  Freshet  from  which 
the  Newfield  waters  derived  their  name.  Councils  were 
held  by  the  city  fathers,  and  resolutions  drawn  up,  con- 
cerning the  immediate  inspection  and  repairing  of  the 
Freshet  dyke ;  but  the  dyke  failed  to  pi-ofit  thereby,  the 
resolutions  proving  the  only  tangible  result  of  the  con- 
ventions. 

Simultaneously  with  this  premature  spring,  a  season  of 
dire  financial  depression  dawned  throughout  the  country. 
A  cry  of  hard  times  was  followed  by  divers  insignificant 
financial  panics,  which,  confined  to  the  Eastern  market 
though  they  were,  reacted  upon  the  West,  thrilling  it 
with  the  presage  of  disaster.  Bulletins  were  issued,  con- 
taining the  latest  telegraphic  reports  from  all  the  great 
stock-centres ;  and  these  were  discussed  by  groups  of 


288  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

gloomy-faced  men  who  feared  the  effect  of  the  general 
depression  upon  the  axis  about  which  all  local  financial 
interests  rotated — the  Newfield  Bank.  As  has  been  said, 
the  fast  life  of  the  young  banker,  which  must  have  been 
fatal  to  his  financial  interests  in  a  more  cautious  and  con- 
servative community,  had  not  advanced  them,  even  here. 
Nevertheless,  a  general  blind  belief  was  entertained  that, 
by  hook  or  crook,  the  bank  would  pull  through — faith  in 
the  Harriman  luck  surviving  faith  in  the  Harriman  honor. 
The  death  of  even  the  latter  faith,  indeed,  was  compara- 
tive rather  than  absolute  ;  it  being  subject  to  daily  resus- 
citation as  old  John  Harriman,  seated  in  his  favorite  nook 
in  the  swell  of  the  bank-window,  waxed  more  and  more 
eloquent  upon  the  financial  soundness  of  "  my  son  Steele," 
and  "  th'  biggest  bank  this  side  o'  'Frisco  !  "  The  young 
banker,  recognizing  the  favorable  effect  of  the  paternal 
tribute,  smiled  somewhat  sardonically.  In  truth,  he  was 
watching  the  approach  of  disaster  much  as  the  condemned 
murderer  watches  the  erection  of  his  gallows.  Of  a  sud- 
den, however,  the  market  rebounded,  and  the  prospect  of 
a  steady  rise  suggested  the  redemption  of  the  fortunes 
swamped  by  the  recent  depression.  Stocks  were  bought 
up  with  feverish  haste,  and  held  for  inflated  values.  The 
rise  continued.  In  the  very  hour  which  lifted  the  tem- 
perature of  the  market  to  fever-heat,  a  fateful  thing  hap- 
pened. The  man  who,  single-handed,  with  almost  super- 
human strength  and  daring,  had  turned  the  tide  of  finance 
and  forced  it  from  ebb  to  flow — a  railroad  king  and  cen- 
tral figure  of  the  most  powerful  "  ring  "  in  Wall  Street — 
dropped  on  the  floor  of  the  Exchange,  smitten  by  sudden 
death.  On  the  instant  there  was  a  fatal  fall  of  the  stocks 
controlling  the  market,  and  upon  the  further  rise  of 
which  half  the  fortunes  of  the  country  were  staked.  A 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  289 

panic  ensued,  the  contagion  of  which  spread  like  wild-fire 
over  the  entire  country.  The  fortunate  few  stood  firm, 
and  reaped  a  golden  after-harvest.  The  unfortunate  many, 
not  strong  enough  financially  to  keep  their  feet,  were 
swept  relentlessly  into  the  gulf  of  ruin.  A  year  earlier, 
the  Newfield  banker  could  have  stood  one  of  the  few ;  but 
now  he  threatened  to  sink  with  the  many.  The  auspicious 
rebound  of  the  market  had  tempted  him  to  make  a  spec- 
ulative spurt  in  which,  on  the  desperate  impulse  which 
impels  the  gambler  to  stake  his  life  on  his  last  throw,  he 
had  madly  involved  his  last  dollar.  To  withdraw  in  the 
face  of  the  panic  meant  a  loss  which  must  entail  instant 
and  fatal  disaster.  Not  to  withdraw  meant,  upon  the 
other  hand,  a  strain  of  indefinite  duration,  which  the 
bank,  in  its  precarious  financial  condition,  could  not  sur- 
vive. Resources  which  had  been  open  to  him  in  former 
difficulties  now  failed  him.  But  he  was  not  in  despair. 
One  untried  resource,  for  years  held  in  reserve,  was  left 
him.  It  was  not  among  the  pi-obabilities  that  it  would — 
he  said  "could  " — fail  him.  The  time  was  come  to  test  it. 
In  the  stellar  system  of  the  firmament  of  Western  specu- 
lation, a  certain  Isaac  Solomon  scintillated  as  a  star  of  the 
first  magnitude.  Mr.  Solomon  was  of  Hebrew  parentage, 
but  of  New  England  birth ;  and  his  heritage  of  Jewish 
enterprise  was  supplemented  by  an  acquisition  of  Yankee 
shrewdness.  Rising,  originally,  from  a  shop  ornamented 
exteriorly  by  three  gilded  balls,  he  had  flashed  like  a  me- 
teor across  the  sky  of  the  Republic,  his  golden  orbit,  finan- 
cial in  perihelion  but  political  in  aphelion,  illuminating 
the  domain  of  the  "White  House  with  the  vivid  and  stead- 
fast velocity  of  the  mis-called  fixed  star.  Upon  this  man 
Solomon,  Steele  Harriman's  eyes  were  turned.  Already 
he  had  met  him,  and  during  the  meeting,  the  young 


290  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

banker  had  insinuated  that  he  was  cognizant  of  more  of 
Mr.  Isaac  Solomon's  political  intrigues  than  that  cautious 
individual  had  been  wont  to  confide  to  the  uninitiated. 
Thereupon  the  wise  Solomon  had  temporized  straight- 
way, and  admitted  the  young  banker  to  the  outer  circle 
of  his  satellites.  This  concession  he  had  supplemented, 
however,  by  a  gratuitous  word  of  advice. 

"  You  are  a  clever  young  man,"  he  said,  "  an  exceed- 
ingly clever  young  man ;  and  your  manipulation  of  the 
screw  is  admirable.  But  permit  me  to  give  you  a  word  of 
warning.  It  is  never  safe  to  apply  the  screw  too  relent- 
lessly. It  is  always  within  the  possibilities  that  relative 
positions  may  be  reversed,  and  in  such  case  the  retaliation- 
screw  is  apt  to  be  felt — unpleasantly." 

Steele,  with  a  scoff  at  the  implied  threat,  had  gone  on 
his  way  rejoicing.  He  knew  that  the  man  was,  to  a  cer- 
tain measure,  in  his  power ;  and  did  not  then  exercise  his 
power  to  the  utmost,  only  because  he  preferred  to  bide 
his  time.  In  face  of  the  ruin  now  before  him  he  felt  his 
time  was  come.  He  took  a  flying-trip  to  Cheyenne,  inter- 
cepting the  magnate  as  he  was  speeding  coastward  in  the 
sumptuous  chariot  of  American  royalty,  a  private  car,  and 
extracted  from  him  a  promise  to  stop  over  on  his  return- 
trip,  for  a  night  in  Newfield.  The  intervening  days  he 
passed  in  feverish  suspense.  His  pz-eparations  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  his  guest  were  extravagant,  lavish  to  os- 
tentation. Decorators,  caterers,  florists  from  Denver, 
Omaha,  even  Chicago,  were  pressed  into  service.  Isolde 
timidly  asking  to  be  excused  from  appearing  on  the  occa- 
sion, was  answered  by  an  oath  that  frightened  her,  aud 
imperatively  bidden  to  order  the  most  gorgeous  dinner- 
gown  that  money  could  command. 

"He  lives  like  his  royal  namesake  in  all  his  glory,"  he 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  291 

said,  "  and  his  women  are  Queens  of  Sheba  in  attire.  You 
are  not  only  to  equal,  but  to  surpass  them.  Mind  that ! 
We  must  dazzle  him,  or  die  in  the  attempt !  " 

Mr.  Isaac  Solomon,  a  dark-faced,  smiling-lipped  man, 
whose  keen,  alert  black  eyes  flashed  in  curious  contrast 
to  the  sullen  brows  that  shaded  them,  arrived  in  Newfield 
on  the  dreariest  and  wildest  of  nights.  The  wind  howled 
like  an  avenging  spirit.  The  rain  surged  down  in  angry 
torrents.  The  night  was  of  awful  blackness — blackness 
the  denser  in  contrast  with  the  dazzling  forks  of  flame 
flashing  here,  there,  and  everywhere  in  the  lurid  heavens. 
Over  the  shrieking  wind  sounded  the  thunder's  menace. 
Its  peals  were  heavy  and  stifled,  jarring  the  earth  with 
dull,  reverberant  thuds.  Altogether  it  was  a  night  of  evil 
omen.  Mr.  Solomon,  in  the  luxurious  shelter  of  the  Har- 
riman  carriage,  hugged  himself,  metaphorically,  in  con- 
gratulation that  the  omen  was  not  for  him. 

Descending  from  the  carriage,  he  hesitated  for  an  in- 
stant, surprised  and  dazed  by  the  luxury  surrounding  him. 
From  the  carriage-step  to  the  house-door  stretched  an 
awning  banked  up  both  sides  of  its  interior  by  tall  green 
plants,  among  whose  glossy  leaves  glowed  colored  lights, 
like  brilliant  tropical  blossoms.  The  doors  of  the  house 
were  thrown  open.  He  caught  sight  of  the  roseate  lights 
within,  of  waving  palms  and  rare  exotics,  over  which 
floated,  like  a  breath  of  songful  summer,  the  strains  of 
unseen  violins.  His  feet,  as  he  entered  the  splendid 
vestibule,  resounded  on  costly  marble,  then  sunk  noise- 
lessly into  the  depths  of  priceless  carpets  and  dusky  ori- 
ental rugs.  Bare  tapestries,  massive  carvings,  delicate 
frescoings,  allured  his  eyes.  An  exquisite  perfume  floated 
about  him,  exhaled  by  everything  he  approached  or 
touched.  He  entered  the  drawing-room  like  one  in  a 


292  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

dream.  It  was  a  dream  well  suited  to  warm  and  quicken 
his  sensuous,  semi-oriental  blood. 

A  number  of  guests  awaited  him.  All  were  men  of 
whom  he  knew  already,  as  rising  or  risen  capitalists  and 
politicians  ;  but  with  whom  personally,  but  for  a  single 
exception,  he  was  unacquainted.  This  exception,  how- 
ever, was  not  made  evident.  Not  by  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash,  as  the  guests  were  introduced,  did  Mr.  Solomon 
betray  his  previous  acquaintance  with  Rundell. 

Isolde,  a  lovely  vision  in  glistening  white  and  silver, 
with  Althea,  regal  in  violet  velvet,  from  which  her 
shoulders  rose  like  those  of  a  sculptured  Juno,  sup- 
plied the  feminine  complement.  Mr.  Solomon,  bowing 
to  Althea,  involuntarily  exclaimed,  "  Splendid  !  "  Then 
he  turned  back  to  his  hostess.  His  opinion  of  her 
did  not  escape  him.  Neither  did  his  eyes  leave  her 
face. 

As  dinner  was  announced,  Isolde  took  Solomon's  arm. 
Footmen  in  livery  held  back  the  portieres,  as  the  guests 
filed  through  the  suite  of  splendid  rooms.  The  walls 
were  banked  with  gorgeous  hot-house  roses  ;  the  ceilings 
hung  with  lights,  festooned  with  flowers.  In  the  vesti- 
bule of  the  dining-room  played  a  perfumed  fountain. 
Lilies  floated  on  its  waters,  and  among  them  sailed  one 
snow-white  swan. 

They  entered  under  an  arch  of  lights  and  flowers. 
The  oval  table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  spacious  room. 
Its  centre-piece  was  a  pool  of  shimmering  glass,  edged 
with  quivering  ferns  and  drooping  valley-lilies.  From 
side  to  side  played  tiny  jets  of  water,  spraying  the  nether 
glass  and  showering  with  baby-dews  the  fresh  young 
flowers.  The  embroidered  cloth  was  white,  of  a  soft,  rich 
woof,  in  whose  luxurious  thickness  the  massive  service 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  293 

seemed  to  nestle.  A  fringe  of  valley-lilies  trailed  from  it 
to  the  floor.  Glass  of  varied  tint  and  shape,  fragile  as 
breath,  and  finely-cut  as  a  diamond,  caught  the  rose- 
tinted  lights  and  multiplied  them  in  myriad  scintillating 
reflections.  A  deep  green  jungle  framed  the  room,  re- 
freshing in  its  suggestion  of  hush  and  shadow.  The 
splash  of  waters  was  heard  within  it ;  and  mingled  with 
them,  as  Pan's  reed  with  the  gurgle  from  the  river-brink, 
a  harp's  strain  sounded. 

On  Isolde's  right  hand  sat  Solomon,  with  Kundell  be- 
side him  ;  on  her  left  a  titled  Englishman  of  hunting 
tastes — a  manly  young  Nimrod  whose  vivid  pink  and 
white  complexion  put  the  indoor  American  complexion  to 
shame.  Althea  sat  between  Steele  and  the  president  of  a 
bonanza  gold-mine  company,  and  opposite  her  sat  the 
president  of  an  influential  Chicago  bank.  These,  with  a 
few  other  well-known  financiers  of  the  speculator  type, 
represented  the  financial  element.  Governor  Bushing,  of 
Nebraska,  whose  future  nomination  as  a  candidate  for  the 
presidential  office  was  already  discussed  by  his  party, 
with  a  couple  of  fellow-politicians  and  a  prominent 
Western  editor,  made  up  the  group  which  old  John  Har- 
riman  as  incongruously  as  happily  completed.  In  the 
midst  of  the  almost  royal  splendor  he  sat  with  the  same 
unconscious,  simple  ease  with  which  he  had  once  par- 
taken of  his  frugal  meals  at  the  pioneer's  pine-board 
table  ;  glorying  in  the  pomp  and  luxury  surrounding  him 
like  a  credulous  child  to  whom,  while  all  things  are  new 
and  beautiful,  none  are  wonderful.  Even  his  cup  of  pleas- 
ure, however,  had  its  dregs  of  pain. 

"I  wish,"  he  confided  in  a  wistful  voice  to  the  aghast 
young  Englishman  who  neglected  his  terrapin  to  stare 
through  his  eye-glass  at  this  new  specimen  of  the  curious 


294  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

genus  American — "I  wish  ez  how  mother  had  lived  ter 
see  it." 

"  O  ya — as,  ya — as  !  "  amiably  responded  the  heir  to  an 
earldom,  after  a  mystified  hesitation.  "Ton  honor,  I 
wish  so  too,  I'm  su — ah." 

A  moment  later,  however,  as  at  one  of  their  host's 
brilliant  sallies  the  company  burst  into  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause, the  old  man  sprung  to  his  feet  in  an  access  of 
rapturous  pride  and  happiness. 

"  That  there's  my  son  Steele,"  he  cried,  designating 
their  host  with  outstretched  finger — "  my  son  Steele  !  " 

No  one  laughed.  For  the  moment  there  was  an  almost 
reverent  hush  over  the  merry  party.  In  the  sudden 
silence,  the  anteroom  and  jungle  fountains  blended  their 
liquid  music.  The  harp  sighed  in  the  jungle-shadow. 
Afar,  the  viols  played. 

"Chicago,"  admitted  the  bank-president,  sipping  his 
f rapped  champagne,  "  is  supposed  to  be  the  Garden  City, 
but  evidently  the  Garden  of  Eden  has  escaped  it.  New- 
field,  indisputably,  is  the  New- World  Paradise." 

Old  John  Harriman  applauded. 

"A Paradise  with  an  Eve,"  whispered  Solomon,  with  a 
bow  to  Isolde. 

"Yet  Chicago  is  the  Fair — er,"  put  in  the  editor,  mis- 
chievously. 

A  general  groan  rewarded  him. 

"  Chicago  represents  the  West — Newfield  only  the  wild, 
wild  West ! '  "  distinguished  Steele,  modestly. 

"  Is  this,"  queried  his  lordship,  with  an  admiring  glance 
about  him,  "  wepwesentative  of  the — aw — '  wild,  wild 
West?'" 

"No,  it  is  representative  of  the  'golden  West, '"  re- 
plied Althea. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  295 

The  gold-mine  president  approved. 

"Mrs.  Rounds  has  said  it,"  he  cried.  "  Were  it  not 
the  'golden  West,'  it  would  be  still  the  'wild,  wild 
West.'  Gold  softens  the  barbaric  to  the  picturesque,  and 
weds  Western  picturesqueness  to  Eastern  sybaritism.  It 
is  the  only  alchemy  which  neither  man  nor  nature  re- 
sists." 

"  How  about  greenbacks,  silver,  the  humble  but  useful 
copper  ?  "  asked  the  Chicago  banker,  facetiously. 

"  Doomed,  one  and  all !  "  announced  Althea.  "  Like 
the  red  man,  they  must  go.  Your  Oscar's  mission  was 
not  so  wild,  after  all,  Lord  Earlescourt.  Even  sordid 
finance  now  has  its  aesthetic  side.  Our  cultured  eyes 
resent  the  ugliness  of  the  baser  specie.  We  exchange 
our  bills  and  coins  for  sunflower  gold " 

"  And  swear  over  the  discount ! "  concluded  Governor 
Rushing,  who,  with  the  taste  of  an  epicure,  was  sipping 
old  claret  with  his  game. 

His  fellow-politician  pretended  to  weep. 

"  I  refuse  to  go  to  Congress,"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Rounds 
implies  it  to  be  a  foregone  conclusion  that  I  cannot  pass 
my  bill." 

"  Excuse  him,  Mrs.  Harriman,"  begged  the  Governor. 
"  His  election  has  turned  his  head." 

"  No,"  retorted  the  accused,  "  it  only  turned  my  poli- 
tics." 

The  Englishman  looked  interested.  "  Is  that  an  Amew- 
icanism  ?  "  he  asked,  as  the  laugh  subsided. 

"  No,  it's  an  Irishism,"  replied  his  host. 

"  Which  proves,"  laughed  Althea  to  the  Briton,  "  that 
John  Bull  is  mis-named.  It  is  Paddy  Bull,  you  know,  by 
all  the  rights  of  paradox." 

"  W — weally !  "  stammered  the  addressed,  too  courte- 


296  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

ous  to  contradict,  but  taking  it  out  of  Altbea  with  bis  eye- 
glass. 

"  Oh,  Johnnie's  named  after  the  bull  in  the  china-shop," 
put  in  the  Governor,  who  had  Celtic  blood  in  his  veins. 
"  Poor  little  Ireland  is  the  china-shop." 

The  Englishman,  who  had  been  reared  in  an  atmosphere 
of  Royal  Worcester  and  Crown  Derby,  protested. 

"  Oh,  weally,  now !  there  isn't  any — aw — Iwish  china, 
don't  you  know  ?  "  he  remonstrated. 

"  No,  Irish  china's  all — Cork  !  "  assented  his  host. 

"  How  about  Belleek?  "  put  in  the  Governor,  loyally. 

"Have  you  shot  any  buffalo  ?"  asked  Isolde,  hastening 
to  the  nobleman's  rescue. 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  interposed  Rundell.  "  English- 
men come  to  America  only  to  bag  big  game." 

"  Does  the  game  always  fall  ?"  asked  one  of  the  specu- 
lators, alive  to  the  innuendo. 

"  No,"  retorted  Rundell.     "  It  rises — above  par." 

Solomon  smiled  appreciatively.  "  When  financier 
meets  financier,"  he  parodied.  "  But  of  course  all  such 
allusions  are  Greek  to  you,  Mrs.  Harriman  ?  " 

"No,"  chuckled  Rundell,  who  was  drinking  freely, 
"  they  are  only  dialect." 

His  tone  was  insolently  significant.  Solomon  gave  him 
a  warning  glance.  Isolde,  however,  had  not  heeded  him. 

"Speaking  of  dialect,"  she  said,  "are  you  aware  that 
our  Western  dialect  promises  to  be  the  future  Volapuk  ? 
Papers,  magazines,  novels,  even  dramas,  abound  with  it. 
Not  only  the  great  American  novel — which,  by  the  way, 
report  says  that  that  pessimistic  genius,  Hamlin  Garland, 
is  now  writing  in  the  Arena,  but  which  I,  loyal  alike  to 
my  sex  and  to  Colorado,  look  for  from  Patience  Stapleton, 
who  unites  the  brain  of  the  man  with  the  hopeful  heart  of 


A  SON  OF  ESAU-.  297 

the  woman — not  only  the  great  American  novel,  I  say,  but 
the  universal  language  as  well,  will  come  out  of  the 
West." 

"  Fawncy  !  "  exclaimed  the  Briton,  looking  up  from  his 
sorbet. 

"Then  the  universal  language  will  come  from  dialect 
'  as  she  is  spoke/  and  not  '  as  she  is  writ,' "  said  the 
editor,  emphatically.  "  Spoken  dialect  is  music.  Written 
as  our  authors  write  it,  it  scrapes  on  the  mental  ear  like 
the  twanging  of  an  out-of-tune  string.  Like  our  British 
friend  here,  I  confess  to  a  weakness  for  the  Queen's 
English.  Over  my  editorial  door  hangs  a  legend  which  I 
bid  my  staff  read  and  heed.  It  runs,  '  Who  enters  here, 
leaves  dialect  behind.' " 

"  I  renew  my  subscription,"  said  Steele,  approvingly. 

The  Englishman  caught  the  word,  and  adjusted  his 
eye-glass.  He  thought  it  possible,  being  in  Western 
America,  that  the  partakers  of  this  gorgeous  "  spread  " 
were  about  to  be  assessed  to  defray  expenses. 

Isolde  challenged  the  editor. 

"  The  failure  of  dialect  in  our  literature,"  she  said,  "lies 
not  at  the  writer's,  but  at  the  critic's  door." 

"Q.  E.  D.,"  responded  the  challenged,  fortifying  him- 
self with  a  glass  of  Blue  Seal  Johanuisberg. 

"  The  writer,"  she  demonstrated,  "  lives  in,  or  comes  to 
the  West,  and  studies  the  dialect  from  nature.  The  critic 
stays  in  the  metropolis,  and  studies  it  from  a  book.  The 
writer  learns  that  the  West  is  not  Western,  but  cosmo- 
politan ;  that  Western  dialect  is,  in  consequence,  a  poly- 
glot. He  transcribes  it  with  infinite  care  and  faithfulness, 
compares  his  written  duplicate  with  the  oral  original,  and 
pronounces  his  work  good.  The  critic's  verdict,  on  the 
contrary,  is  against  it.  '  Here  is  a  Southernism,'  he  cries, 


298  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

triumphantly,  comparing  the  transcribed  polyglot  with 
the  treatise  on  purely  "Western  colloquialisms  which  is  his 
standard  ;  '  here  a  flagrant  Easternism ;  here  a  turn  of 
speech  redolent  of  the  Northern  pines.'  The  writer  hides 
his  diminished  head,  and — borrows  the  critic's  treatise, 
from  which  he  copies  his  Western  dialect  thereafter. 
Whereat  the  critic  writes,  '  great  improvement ;  dialect 
true  to  nature  ! '  and  the  writer  reads,  aud  copies  on,  and 
— laughs  in  his  sleeve." 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  the  editor,  "  I  feel  tempted  to  laugh 
with  him.  You  have  converted  me,  Mrs.  Harriman." 

"  Mrs.  Harrirnan  converts  everyone,"  said  Rundell. 
"  She  is  an  evangelist  of  the  gospel  of  beauty." 

"  I  avow  myself  her  disciple,"  said  Solomon,  with  a 
bow. 

"  The  only  disciple  a  woman  tolerates  is  herself,"  said 
Althea,  aping  humility  as  she  set  out  to  charm  the  wealthy 
Solomon.  "It  is  her  rtile,  and  she  does  not  like  it 
usurped.  Women  are  born  disciples,  Mr.  Solomon — 
men  the  masters." 

"And  the  slaves,"  added  Rundell,  with  a  boldly  admir- 
ing glance  across  the  table. 

"  The  master  is  always  the  slave,"  broke  out  Steele. 
"  '  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown.'  Were  a 
hundred  representative  leaders  of  the  day  to  compare 
notes  with  a  hundred  of  the  representative  led,  I  wager  a 
round  million  that  the  result  would  testify  to  the  greater 
freedom,  happiness,  and  general  good  fortune  of  the 
under-stratum.  In  human  as  in  physical  nature,  ah1  the 
cyclones,  lightnings,  thunderbolts,  etc.,  fall  on  the  upper 
crust." 

"  How  about — aw — earthquakes  ?  "  queried  the  noble- 
man, scoring  a  point  for  Oxford. 


A  SON   OF  ESAU.  299 

"An  additional  proof  of  the  law  in  question,"  per- 
sisted Steele.  "  "When  the  upheaval  comes,  the  upper 
crust  is  the  swamped  ;  the  lower  is  pitched  to  the  top." 

"Aw,  ya — as,"  meditated  the  Briton,   "in  Amewica  !" 

Solomon  rose.  Beyond  a  few  general  remarks,  and  a 
desultory  conversation  with  Isolde,  he  had  not  contrib- 
uted to  the  conversational  menu.  Of  the  culinary  one, 
however,  he  had  partaken  with  the  gourmet's  conscien- 
tiousness and  enjoyment.  Now  that  the  salad  had  been 
followed  by  a  Nesselrode  pudding,  and  the  biscuit  and 
Burgundy  were  appearing  on  the  table,  however,  his  con- 
centrated interest  began  to  diffuse  itself.  Moreover,  the 
inspiration  of  rare  old  wines  was  in  his  veins.  At  the 
moment  he  admired  his  host  more  than  any  other  man  he 
knew.  He  was  young,  handsome,  spirited,  ambitious, 
clever,  successful,  and — he  had  given  him  a  perfect  din- 
ner. His  gracious  mood  inspired  him  to  put  his  admira- 
tion into  words.  As  he  rose,  his  glowing  eyes  and  vivid 
face  commanded  attention.  He  had  bided  his  time  ;  now 
it  was  come.  He  did  not  at  once  make  his  host  his  theme, 
but  took  his  text  from  the  conversational  subject  of  the 
moment.  It  was  not  a  bad  one — Leaders  and  Led. 

There  had  been  a  time  in  Solomon's  early  life,  when  he 
had  advocated  the  cause  of  the  led,  as  himself  one  of 
them.  Now  that  he  had  risen  to  the  ranks  of  the  leaders, 
however,  his  advocacy  of  the  led  was  less  enthusiastic. 
He  dismissed  them  with  a  few  comprehensive  words  which 
served  as  an  effective  introduction  to  the  real  subject  of 
his  speech.  As  he  spoke  on,  his  voice  rang  resonantly  ; 
his  gestures  were  forceful,  his  whole  mien  impressive. 

From  the  subject  of  leadership  in  general,  he  passed 
on  to  the  leader  in  particular,  his  host ;  speaking  elo- 
quently of  his  youth,  his  enterprise,  his  success  !  He 


300  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

dilated  upon  the  fruits  of  that  success,  visible  in  the 
splendor  and  luxury  about  him.  He  drew  from  the 
briliant  present  of  the  young  banker  the  horoscope  of 
his  still  more  brilliant  future.  He  hinted  that  above  the 
crown  of  wealth  waited  the  higher  crown  of  political 
office.  Steele's  face  grew  radiant.  This  man  prophesied 
nothing  rashly.  He  knew  whereof  he  spoke.  The  ful- 
fillment of  the  young  banker's  ambitions  seemed  sud- 
denly within  his  reach.  As  he  rose  to  reply,  a  murmur 
of  admiration  went  round  the  table.  The  disfiguring 
marks  of  dissipation,  as  of  all  other  evils,  were,  for  the 
hour,  obliterated.  It  was  as  if  an  angel's  wing  had 
swept  over  his  face,  erasing  all  its  sin-traced  lines  and 
shadows. 

He  began  by  graceful  thanks  to  his  guest  for  his  elo- 
quent words,  whose  compliments  he  parried  by  turning 
them  upon  Solomon  himself.  His  enterprise  and  success  he 
set  against  those  of  the  bowing  Hebrew,  laughing  ironically 
at  the  comparison.  He  reciprocated  the  laudatory  men- 
tion which  had  been  made  of  his  surroundings,  by  a 
graceful  allusion  to  Solomon's  own  gorgeous  household ; 
whereat  the  gratified  Solomon  flushed  with  honest  pleas- 
ure. Then,  leaving  personalities  behind  him,  he  took  up 
the  subject  of  leadership  where  Solomon  had  dropped  it, 
confining  his  considerations  to  leadership  in  politics,  upon 
the  majesty  of  which,  in  this  American  Republic,  he  dwelt 
in  eloquent  words,  which  the  eloquence  of  his  clarion- 
voice  accented. 

"To  lead,"  he  cried,  "not  by  the  wrong  we  mis-call 
right,  of  blood,  birth,  name,  or  heritage — but  by  the  one, 
the  divine  right  of  instinct,  impulse,  power,  born  within 
us !  To  rise  from  the  ranks,  to  make  our  way  by  force 
of  brain,  of  will,  of  endeavor  ;  to  march  on,  up,  while  the 


A  SOW  OF  ESAU.  301 

weak  and  worthless  lag  behind  us  ;  to  face  undaunted, 
and  conquer  singlehanded,  obstacles  small  and  great  that 
bar  our  way  ;  to  withstand  foes,  and,  if  the  fight  must  be, 
in  fair  and  equal  contest  to  overthrow  them  ;  to  reach,  at 
last,  the  goals  of  Fame  and  Power,  arid  know  them  ours 
by  right  to  claim  our  own — this  is  to  drain  the  Olympian 
gods'  own  nectar,  whose  sweets  the  human  god  alone  can 
know ! 

"  Who  is  the  human  god  ?  Not  the  king  of  subjects, 
not  the  master  of  slaves — but  the  leader  of  men  !  In  the 
royal  cup,  the  draught  of  power  is  clotted  with  the  blood 
that  cries  for  vengeance  from  its  lees.  The  Republic 
only,  the  Republic  alone,  holds  the  clean  chalice  wherein 
the  draught  endures  both  strong  and  sweet.  The  life  of 
millions  of  freemen  thrills  within  it — the  warmth  of  their 
living  hearts,  the  spell  of  their  dreams,  the  fire  of  their 
faiths,  the  glow  of  their  hopes,  the  inspiration  of  their 
ambitions.  And  when  to  these  come  fulfilments  beyond 
their  promise,  consummations  higher  than  their  dreams 
conceived,  then,  and  then  only,  the  leader  grasps  the 
priceless  '  spoil  of  office ' — the  consciousness  of  the  mission 
of  office  manfully  fulfilled  !  " 

A  spell-bound  silence  followed  his  speech,  broken,  an 
instant  later,  by  plaudits  with  which  the  room  resounded. 
The  exalted  chord  which  he  had  struck  was  in  har- 
mony with  his  auditors'  exalted  mood.  Exaltation  of 
spirit  is  born,  in  saints,  of  the  flesh  subdued  ;  in  sinners, 
of  the  flesh  exultant 

"  He's  a  deuced — aw — deep  thinker,"  admitted  the  Eng- 
lishman, admiring  his  host  through  his  eyeglass. 

"  He's  a  d — deuced  deep  drinker  !  "  retorted  Rundell, 
who  had  kept  pace  with  his  host,  glass  for  glass,  and 
whose  head  was  the  worse  in  consequence. 


302  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  Englishman  thought  the  retort  too  good  to  mon- 
opolize— "just  like  an  aw — Amewican,  don't  you  know?  " 
— and  passed  it  around  the  table.  Under  cover  of  the 
boisterous  applause  it  evoked,  Isolde  and  Althea  stole 
away. 

Left  to  themselves,  the  men  closed  about  their  host, 
and  discussed  his  political  ambitions,  as  if  their  fulfil- 
ments were  assured.  When,  an  hour  later,  the  group 
dispersed,  Steele's  face  was  flushed  with  excitement,  his 
eyes  shone  exultantly.  This  was  life,  this  was  manhood, 
this  was  success !  Youth  and  strength,  wealth  and 
honor,  power  and  fame  ! — could  the  immortal  gods  ask 
more  ? 

Rundell  had  followed  Isolde  into  the  drawing  -  room. 
The  gold-mine  president,  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to 
Althea's  statuesque  charms,  hastened  after  him.  John 
Harriman  had  long  since  slipped  away.  Governor  Rush- 
ing made  his  adieux,  a  telegram  summoning  him  back  to 
Nebraska  having  interrupted  one  of  the  brilliant  after- 
dinner  stories  for  which  he  was  famous.  His  fellow-pol- 
iticians followed  him  to  the  carriage,  and  then,  lured  by 
the  click  of  balls,  sauntered  into  the  billiard-room,  where 
the  rival  cues  of  the  American  editor  and  the  English 
nobleman  waged  an  international  contest.  The  financiers, 
with  the  freedom  of  old  frequenters  of  the  house,  seated 
themselves  at  a  poker- table  in  the  library.  Finally,  only 
Solomon  was  faithful  to  the  old  Madeira.  This  was  as 
Steele  would  have  had  it  He  plied  his  guest's  glass, 
entertaining  him,  meanwhile,  with  amusing  jest  and 
anecdote,  until  he  saw  the  effect  of  the  wine  in  the  glow- 
ing face  and  ready  smile  of  the  Jewish  magnate.  Then, 
with  subtle  cleverness,  he  turned  the  conversation  into  a 
graver  channel. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  303 

From  the  drawing-room  the  piano  sounded.  Solomon 
looked  up  from  his  wine. 

"  Suppose  we  join  the  ladies  ?  "  he  said.  "  May  I  take 
the  liberty  of  confessing  that  they  are  ii-resistible  ?  I  judge 
that  congratulations  are  still  in  order " 

Steele  waived  them,  with  a  smile. 

"  My  wife  is  young,"  he  explained  ;  "  but  we  have  been 
married  more  than  two  years.  We  have  a  son  aged  a  ven- 
erable number  of  months.  I  really  forget  how  many." 

Solomon  sighed. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  he  said.  "  I — I  never  had  a  child." 

There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  surprised  his  host. 
Heretofore  he  had  found  him  a  man  of  flint.  If  the  human 
spark  was  in  him,  he  would  ignite  it.  He  gave  an  order, 
inaudible  to  his  guest,  to  the  man  who  answered  his  ring, 
and  then,  pressing  upon  Solomon  a  fresh  cigar,  plunged 
into  an  anecdote  which  ended  just  as  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  a  white-capped 
maid,  bearing  in  her  arms  Harriman  junior,  dewy-eyed 
and  rosy-cheeked  from  recent  slumber. 

"My  son,"  presented  the  young  host,  gaily.  "John 
Steele,  do  honor  to  your  father,  and  shake  hands." 

John  Steele's  first  impulse  was  to  clench  his  little 
fist,  curl  his  little  lip,  and  utter  a  protesting  howl ; 
but  as  his  dazzled  eyes  began  to  distinguish  the  lights 
and  flowers,  he  changed  his  weathercock  mind,  and 
stretching  his  hands  toward  the  roses,  smiled  and  crowed. 

"  Ah !  "  remarked  Solomon,  "  a  fine  child,  very.  His 
mother's  eyes  and  hair,  and  a  promise  of  your  physique. 
An  exceptionally  enviable  inheritance." 

His  eyes  followed  the  golden  baby-head,  as,  happy  in 
the  possession  of  a  glowing  flower,  John  Steele  was  car- 
ried out.  Steele  struck  while  the  iron  was  hot.  Even 


301  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

as  the  door  shut  be  introduced  the  subject  he  had  at 
heart. 

"Before  we  join  the  ladies,"  he  said,  "one  parting 
glass.  'Women  and  wine,'  says  the  carpet-knight.  'Wine 
and  women,'  says  the  man.  And,  by  the  bye,  speaking  of 
manhood,  what  Titanic  weights  ambition  lays  on  a  man's 
shoulders  nowadays.  Mine  are  absolutely  over-bur- 
dened. My  last  straw  has  been — ahem  ! — the  Sierraville 
lands." 

"  Ah  !  "  murmured  the  cautious  Solomon.  He  had  set 
down  his  refilled  glass  untasted,  and  was  looking  at  his 
host  with  suddenly  suspicious  eyes. 

Steele  went  on  recklessly. 

"I  did  not  intend  to  introduce  business  here," he  said; 
"  but  perhaps  we  had  better  take  advantage  of  this  op- 
portunity to  settle  the  matter.  I  will  speak  to  you  frankly, 
as  friend  to  friend.  I  confess  that  I  know  you  must  have 
the  lands.  I  invested  with  the  intention  of  holding  them 
till  you  should  make  it  worth  my  while  to  let  them  go, 
but  I  did  not  foresee  the  present  panic.  They  are  too 
heavy  for  me  to  carry  through  the  hard  times.  I  must 
lighten  my  load,  or  sink  under  it.  Of  course  you  will 
take  the  lands.  I  will  lower  the  figure  in  consideration 
of  the  accommodation.  Two  hundred  thousand  down, 
and " 

Solomon  interrupted  him. 

"  But  we  are  no  longer  in  need  of  them,"  he  said. 
"Learning  that  they  had  passed  into  somewhat  extortion- 
ate hands,  we  branched  off  the  road  just  below  them,  and 
crossed  Mason's  ranch,  on  their  left,  which  we  obtained  at 
a  comparatively  reasonable  figure." 

"What !  "  cried  Steele,  after  an  instant  of  dazed  silence, 
"  you  have  betrayed  me  ;  you,  who  indirectly  spurred  me 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  305 

on  to  buy  them  !  You  have  schemed  to  outwit  and  ruin 
me — you !  You  are  mad  !  Needing  the  lands  or  not,  you 
shall  take  them  now,  and  at  my  own  figure,  too,  by  heaven ! 
Do  you  think  that  that  little  affair  of  the  last  campaign 
bribery " 

Again  Solomon  interrupted  him. 

"I  warned  you  once  before,"  he  said,  "that  your  ma- 
nipulation of  the  screw  was  too  pitiless.  You  make  the 
retaliation  screw  a  necessity.  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
frankly,  since  you  force  me  to  the  point  of  defence,  that — 
Rundell  and  I  are  one  !  " 

"  Ruudell — and — you  ?  " 

He  had  risen  from  his  chair,  but  he  sunk  back  dizzily. 
The  room  whirled;  the  lights  dazzled,  blinded  him.  With 
a  groan  he  lifted  to  his  lips,  with  shaking  hand,  the  glass 
of  brandy  that  Solomon  had  pushed  toward  him. 

"Drink !  "  said  Solomon,  not  unkindly.  In  spite  of  his 
natural  resentment,  he  liked  the  man,  and  was  not  un- 
willing to  help  him  out  of  a  difficulty  which  he  saw  must 
be  serious.  Moreover,  the  amiable  relationship  which 
such  help  must  establish  between  him  and  the  young 
banker  was  not  undesirable  in  Solomon's  eyes.  He  had 
felt,  of  late,  a  lack  of  the  enterprise  and  daring  of  his  op- 
ponents— the  need  of  young  blood  of  just  such  ilk  as  was 
surging  through  the  veins  of  this  handsome  young  scape- 
grace. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  Don't  give  way. 
The  lands  aside,  if  you  are  in  a  tight  place  we  may  be  able 
to  do  something  for  you." 

He  lifted  the  long-stemmed  glass  to  his  lips,  and  drained 
its  royal  draught  to  the  last  drop.  Its  warmth  was  in  his 
voice  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  say  plainly,  that  we  will  do  something  for  you," 


306  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

he  said.  "  I — I  like  you  !  Now,  let  us  join  the  ladies. 
You  can  take  the  run  to  Denver  with  me  to-morrow,  and 
we  will  settle  the  matter  on  the  way." 

Steele  followed  him  mechanically.  He  was  still  dazed 
by  his  disappointment  In  the  ante-room,  Solomon 
halted.  In  statuesque  pose  by  the  fountain's  brink,  fair 
and  stately  as  the  swan  at  her  feet,  stood  Althea.  The 
perfect  line  of  her  throat  and  shoulders  was  unbroken  by 
gem  or  ornament.  One  bare  arm,  perfect  in  tint  and 
symmetry,  was  extended  ;  her  white  fingers  idly  toyed 
with  the  perfumed  spray.  Her  breast,  from  its  velvet  cor- 
sage, swelled  like  life-thrilled  marble.  The  gold-mine 
president  was  bending  over  her  with  kindled  eyes.  Over 
her  white  shoulder  she  smiled  at  the  intruders. 

"  Mrs.  Harrirnan  is  in  the  drawing-room,"  she  said. 

Solomon  was  not  a  man  of  stupidities.     He  passed  on. 

As  they  were  about  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, the  sound  of  a  man's  impassioned  voice  arrested 
them.  Isolde  had  risen  from  her  chair,  over  the  back  of 
which  Rundell  was  leaning,  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

"  You  have  insulted  me  !  "  she  said  in  a  low  yet  imperi- 
ous voice.  "  Go !  While  I  am  mistress  of  this  house, 
you  shall  never  cross  its  threshold  again." 

Rundell  laughed  sneeringly,  though  his  lips  were  white. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Quite  a  realistic  assumption  of  the  virtuous 
role"  he  said.  " But  do  you  think  I  don't  know  you ? 
What  are  you  but  a  decoy,  a  financial  lobbyist,  different 
from  others  in  only  that  your  price  is  higher  ?  Do  you 
suppose  there  is  one  of  us  who  does  not  know  why  you 
are  here,  night  after  night,  tricked  out  in  your  devilish 
gewgaws?  /insult  you!  You  have  given  me  the  right 
to  insult  you,  as  you  have  given  it  to  each  and  every  man 
for  whom  you  are  used  as  a  decoy  !  " 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  307 

In  a  bice  Steele  had  him  by  the  throat. 

"Liar!  coward!  brute!"  he  raged.  "Retract  your 
damned  lies — retract  them — retract  them " 

Released  from  his  powerful  grasp,  the  man  staggered 
back,  gasping  for  breath.  His  face  was  livid  with  fury. 
Between  his  lips  oozed  the  foam  of  mad  animal  rage. 

"  I  will  have  my  revenge  !  "  he  panted. 

"  Damn  your  revenge  !  "  thundered  Steele,  seizing  him 
by  the  shoulder  and  shaking  him  as  if  he  were  a  feather- 
weight. "  Down  on  your  knees,  I  say !  Down  on  your 
knees !  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps.  Steele's 
hand  relaxed. 

"  Go !  "  he  said,  in  a  smothered  voice.  "  Your  apology 
shall  be  made,  later." 

Solomon  stepped  forward. 

"I  warned  you  that  we  were  one,  Harriman,"  he  said. 
"  If  Rundell  goes,  I  go  with  him.  You  know  the  cost !  " 

"  Go  ! "  he  hissed,  through  teeth  clenched  tightly  be- 
hind paling  lips.  The  portieres  fell  behind  them.  For  a 
moment  he  stood,  staring  blankly  before  him  ;  then,  with 
a  groan,  he  staggered  to  a  seat,  his  face  hid  in  his  hands. 

The  cost  ?  Aye,  he  knew  it,  he  knew  it ! — Ruin  !  Ruin ! 
Ruin! 

Isolde  sunk  on  her  knees  beside  him. 

"  His  attentions  to  Althea  were  only  a  cloak,"  she 
whispered,  between  her  nervous  sobs.  "  It  was  he  who 
wrote  that  dreadful  letter  about  Magdalen.  He  wished 
me  to  think  the  man — you  ! " 

"  I  am  the  man,"  he  cried,  despairingly.  "  Kingsley 
shouldered  it,  for  your  sake.  I  have  been  a  bad  man,  a 
bad  man.  And  the  wages  of  sin  are  on  me." 

She  had  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  was  swaying  to  and 


308  A  SOW  OF  ESAU. 

fro,  saved  from  falling  only  by  her  unconscious  grasp  of 
bis  chair. 

"  You  ?  "  she  moaned.     "  You  ?  " 

"I!  Nor  is  this  all.  Rundell's  revenge — shall  I  tell 
you  what  it  will  be  ?  It  will  be  the  public  vindication 
of  Freshet  Sal  as  my  brother's  legal  wife,  the  mother  of 
my  brother's  legitimate  child.  He  has  the  marriage  cer- 
tificate in  his  possession.  Dishonor,  ruin,  stare  me  in  the 
face  !  " 

He  expected  her  to  spurn  him,  to  shrink,  flee  from 
him.  Even  yet  he  did  not  know  her  woman-heart.  After 
her  first  involuntary  shuddering  recoil,  as  the  horror  of 
his  sin  dawned  upon  her,  she  was  conscious  only  of 
her  soul's  infinite  pity  for  him — of  her  yearning  impulse 
to  stand  between  him  and  the  doom  his  sin  entailed. 

"  From  the  wages  of  your  sin,"  she  prayed,  uncon- 
sciously echoing  his  words,  "  Oh,  my  husband,  God  spare 
you,  God  spare  you  ! " 

Over  the  viol's  song,  over  the  harp's  soft  strain  and 
the  purl  of  perfumed  waters,  his  answer  shuddered.  With 
set  white  face,  and  eyes  that  looked  past  the  lights  and 
flowers  into  the  darkness  of  death,  and  the  eternal  life 
beyond  it — he  spoke  it. 

"  The  wages  of  sin  is  death  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

EUNDELL'S  REVENGE. 

The  day  that  followed  was  Sunday.  At  the  first  glim- 
mer of  day-break  Steele  rose  from  his  sleepless  bed  and 
walked  down  to  the  bank.  The  watchman  had  just 
opened  the  private  door,  situated  in  the  rear  of  the  bank, 
and  with  his  unextinguished  lantern  still  swinging  from 
his  hand,  was  standing  on  the  threshold,  drawing  in 
deep  sibilant  breaths  of  the  balmy  morning  air.  Dis- 
missed to  notify  the  day- watchman  that  he  could  take  a 
half-holiday,  as  business  would  keep  the  banker  in  the 
building  until  noon,  he  went  his  way  with  an  alacrity 
born  of  his  eagerness  to  impart  his  exciting  conviction 
that  "  suthin  war  up  wi'  tli'  boss."  Steele  watched  the 
retreating  figure  out  of  sight,  dully  conscious,  in  the 
meantime,  of  the  fresh,  cool  wind,  of  the  purple  haze  of 
day-break,  and  the  twittering  of  myriad  sparrows  waking 
in  the  budding  trees.  He  sighed  as  he  turned  into  the 
bank.  The  peace  of  the  scene  was  in  bitter  contrast  to 
the  restless  heart  within  him.  He  shut  and  locked  the 
door,  saw  that  the  iron  shutters  were  down  securely,  lest 
a  ray  of  light  shining  through  a  chance  chink  should  be- 
tray him,  and  turned  on  a  couple  of  the  electric  jets. 
Then  he  opened  the  safes.  He  rifled  them  of  books, 
bonds,  bills,  coins,  their  entire  contents,  which  he  piled 
on  desks  and  tables.  Then  he  began  his  work.  For  six 


310  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

long  hours  he  worked  on  steadily.  Then  he  shut  the  last 
book,  and  dropped  his  head  upon  its  cover.  He  was  face 
to  face  with  the  fatal  truth.  Ruin !  Ruin  !  Ruin  ! 

Over  and  over  again  he  repeated  the  word.  Even  yet 
he  scarcely  realized  its  personal  application.  He  ruined — 
he,  Steele  Harriman,  banker  of  Newfield,  master  of  the 
big  house,  John  Harriman's  sou  ?  Only  last  night  he  had 
stood  a  king,  a  god  among  men  ;  surrounded  by  fawning 
courtiers,  revelling  in  royal  luxury,  foretasting  the  elysian 
draught  of  ambitions,  dreams  fulfilled!  Ruined— he! 
How  had  it  come  about?  Where  were  the  thousands,  the 
hundreds  of  thousands,  that  had  passed  through  his  hands 
in  the  last  two  years?  His  thoughts  followed  them  to 
their  various  graves  ;  to  the  mines  that  had  swallowed 
all  and  returned  nothing  ;  to  the  real  estate  whose  vast 
values  had  collapsed  like  balloons  as  their  air  escapes ;  to 
the  stocks  sunk  in  the  market  like  lead  to  the  sea-bottom  ; 
to  the  mortgages  upon  whose  margins  the  financial  de- 
pression of  the  hour  fatally  encroached  ;  to  the  loans  whose 
interest,  even,  was  defaulted ;  to  the  bonds  now  but  waste 
paper,  in  consequence  of  the  fall  of  the  fickle  market ! 
And  beyond  this  vista  of  misfortune  opened  the  darker 
one  of  dishonor !  Hypothecated  bonds,  watered  stock, 
duplicate  mortgages — all  the  piteous  futile  resources  of 
desperation  and  despair  stared  him  in  the  face.  Ruin  ! 
Ruin  !  And  all  for  the  lack  of  a  little  time.  A  mouth, 
perhaps  a  fortnight  hence,  the  tide  would  turn,  the 
depressed  market  rebound.  And  meantime,  his  notes 
must  be  met ;  the  certain  run  on  the  bank  withstood — 
with  what  ?  He  looked  at  the  bills  and  gold  about  him 
with  a  bitter  sneer.  As  well  none  as  these.  He  leaped 
to  his  feet  with  a  stifled  cry,  and  pressed  both  hands  to 
his  head.  These  piles  must  be  increased  and  multiplied — 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  311 

they  must,  they  must !  But  how,  and  by  whom  ?  His  best 
resources  were  drained  already ;  and  a  general  chariness 
about  accommodating  him  had  been  noticeable  of  late.  A 
suspicion  of  his  difficulties  was  already  abroad.  More- 
over, others  were  embarrassed  as  well  as  he.  Many  of 
whom  he  had  thought  to  ask  a  temporary  accommodation 
had  asked  it  of  him  instead.  Solomon  had  been  his 
main,  his  last  hope,  and  he  had  failed  him.  Who  was 
left? 

After  an  hour's  despairing  thought  he  dashed  off  a  few 
cipher  telegrams,  and  telephoned  to  his  home  for  a  ser- 
vant. Him  he  sent  with  the  despatches,  ordering  him  to 
wait  in  the  office  until  all  the  replies  were  in.  The  man 
looked  at  him  reproachfully — it  was  his  half-holiday — but 
something  in  the  white  set  face  of  the  banker  forbade 
remonstrance.  As  the  servant  went,  and  the  door  was  re- 
locked  upon  him,  the  lonely  occupant  of  the  great  building 
set  about  obliterating  all  traces  of  his  visit  He  replaced 
the  books  and  bonds  in  the  exact  order  in  which  he  had 
found  them,  restored  to  the  safes  their  precious  contents, 
and  fastened  the  massive  door  of  the  vault  with  the  lock 
whose  combination  was  known  only  to  him  and  his  cashier. 
Then  he  turned  out  the  light,  and  locked  the  door  of  his 
compartment  on  the  outside.  Between  it  and  the  private 
exit  was  a  passage  illuminated  during  bank-hours  by 
electric  light.  But  now,  with  the  lights  turned  off  and 
the  outer  door  still  unopened,  it  was  dark  almost  to 
blackness.  His  feet,  sinking  in  the  luxurious  carpet  with 
which  the  floor  of  the  passage  was  covered,  made  no 
sound.  The  wall,  as  his  hand  touched  it,  felt  chill  and 
damp.  The  atmosphere  was  close  and  heavy  ;  he  fancied 
that  it  smelled  like  a  vault.  "With  a  shudder  he  groped 
for  the  door,  and  with  shaking  hands,  flung  it  open.  The 


312  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

surprised  face  of  the  day-watchman,  just  coming  to  his 
post,  greeted  him. 

"  Spent  your  morning-off  in  church,  I  hope,  Hopkins?  " 
he  said,  with  forced  pleasantry.  The  sound  of  his  voice 
grated  upon  him.  He  shut  the  door  behind  him  with 
impatient  haste,  and  strode  toward  home. 

He  had  been  out  since  earliest  dawn,  and  it  was  now  past 
the  noon-hour.  Isolde  was  watching  for  him  with  anxious 
eyes.  He  passed  her  without  a  word,  and  hastening  to 
his  room,  locked  himself  in  it.  He  had  tasted  nothing 
since  the  night  before,  but  the  tray-laden  servant  who 
knocked  at  his  door  was  fiercely  ordered  away,  and  for- 
bidden to  return.  Ruin !  Ruin !  The  word  rang  in 
his  ears,  blazed  before  his  eyes,  crashed  like  a  hammer 
through  his  reeling  brain.  Ruin,  utter,  inevitable  !  un- 
less, unless — O  God !  when  would  those  answers  reach 
him  ?  He  had  waited  days,  months,  j-ears ! 

One  !  Two  !  Three  !  Four  !  Five  !  The  little  time- 
piece on  the  mantel  chimed  out  the  long,  slow  hours. 
How  the  awful  day  dragged  !  Each  silvery  tick  was  a  slow 
stab  through  his  shrinking,  shuddering  heart !  Pacing 
from  door  to  window,  from  window  to  door,  with  heavy 
tread  and  hands  clenched  tightly  behind  him,  the  sus- 
pense was  endurable  ;  but  forced  by  sheer  physical  fatigue 
to  pause  and  rest,  his  unstrung  nerves  gained  the  mas- 
tery. There  was  a  deafening  surge  in  his  ears,  a  blur  be- 
fore his  eyes,  a  maddening  throb,  an  anguished  com- 
pressed contraction  in  his  brain.  Iron  bands  were  bind- 
ing it,  a  red-hot  iron  was  piercing  it  through  and  through. 
A  sky  of  fire  burned  above  him,  a  gulf  of  fire  burned  be- 
low ;  the  flames  curled  down,  the  flames  wreathed  up, 
surrounding,  scorching,  devouring  him  !  "  Ruin  !  Ruin !  " 
hissed  a  thousand  fiery  tongues.  Again  and  again  he 


A   SON  OF  ESAU.  313 

sprung  to  his  feet  with  a  shuddering  cry,  forcing  his 
heavy  eyes  open,  his  exhausted  limbs  into  renewed  mo- 
tion. Any  pain,  any  agony,  were  those  visions  of  infernal 
fire  but  kept  at  bay. 

The  dreary  day  darkened  to  dusk.  He  lifted  the  window 
and  leaned  out,  his  wild  eyes  piercing  the  deepening 
shadows.  The  replies  upon  which  his  doom  depended — 
would  they  ever  come  ?  The  cool  night-air,  moist  with 
dew,  blew  gratefully  on  his  fevered  face.  It  softened  his 
mood,  broke  his  tense  self-control,  as  a  gentle  word  some- 
times pierces  the  lethargy  of  a  great  grief.  He  gasped  for 
breath  with  parted  lips  and  hands  pressed  convulsively 
against  his  anguished  breast.  Then  a  sound  arose,  strong, 
deep,  terrible — the  sound  of  a  man's  despairing  sob.  His 
racked  brow  dropped  to  the  hard  sill.  Ruin  !  Ruin  !  O 
God! 

The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  roused  him.  He 
started  up  and  looked  oat  eagerly.  A  cry  escaped  him 
as  he  descried  the  messenger,  a  packet  of  yellow  envel- 
opes in  his  hand.  In  a  hoarse  voice  he  called  to  the 
man  to  throw  them  to  him.  He  caught  them  in  shaking 
hands  and  tore  them  open  with  his  teeth,  like  a  greedy 
animal.  Then  he  leaned  from  the  window  and  read  them 
by  the  light  of  the  lawn-lamps. 

One  by  one  he  read,  and  re-read  them,  and  flung  them 
to  the  floor.  Then  he  stamped  upon  them,  grinding  his 
teeth  and  uttering  horrible  oaths  as  he  ground  them 
under  his  heel.  Suddenly  he  laughed,  a  fierce  wild  laugh, 
that  died  in  a  sharp  sob.  Suspense  was  ended.  He  had 
nothing  left  to  hope,  nothing  to  strive  for.  He  had  only  to 
sit  with  folded  hands  and  wait — for  what  ?  The  awful 
question  went  unanswered.  Something  snapped  in  his 
braiu — or  was  it  his  heart  ?  The  irou-bauds  were  loos- 


314:  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

enecl.  The  room  slipped  from  him.  He  was  falling — 
fulling.  With  an  exhausted  sigh  he  sunk  into  a  chair. 
The  flames  no  longer  tortured  him  ;  he  was  engulfed  in 
chill  and  darkness.  The  wind  blew  in  through  the  open 
window,  rustling  the  yellow  shreds  upon  the  floor.  They 
were  the  ashes  of  his  last  hope,  but  he  did  not  heed  them. 
Merciful  unconsciousness  had  come  to  his  relief. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  Isolde,  startled  by  the  un- 
broken silence,  knocked  resolutely  upon  his  door.  Twice 
through  the  day  she  had  begged  admittance  and  been  re- 
pulsed ;  but  now  she  was  resolved  to  take  no  denial.  He 
woke  from  his  lethargy  with  a  start,  and  as  the  knock  was 
repeated,  listened.  Over  her  gentle  voice  he  caught  a 
sound  welcome  to  him  in  his  feverish  thirst  and  faintness 
— the  tinkle  of  ice  against  glass.  With  an  effort  he  rose 
and  opened  the  door.  Isolde  was  alone,  staggering  under 
the  weight  of  a  heavy  tray.  A  siphon  of  seltzer  stood 
upon  it,  and  a  bowl  of  crushed  ice.  He  seized  both,  and 
pouring  the  seltzer  over  the  ice,  drank  from  the  bowl 
greedily.  Then,  deaf  to  her  entreaty,  he  locked  the  door 
against  her.  She  turned  away  with  tearful  eyes,  but  with 
a  lightened  heart.  At  least,  he  was  alive,  and — sober. 
She  had  feared — she  scarcely  knew  what — in  those  long, 
dread  hours  of  silence.  Covering  the  tray  with  a  napkin, 
she  left  it  by  the  door,  in  case  he  should  wish  refreshment 
during  the  night.  Then  she  crept  wearily  upstairs,  to  lie 
beside  her  baby,  with  sleepless  anxious  eyes. 

Breakfast,  the  next  morning,  was  a  silent  meal.  John 
Harriman  had  long  since  partaken  of  his  simple  dish,  and 
was  smoking  in  the  grounds.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  his  son's  difficulties.  His  seclusion  of  the 
day  before  had  seemed  to  the  old  man  the  natural  sequel 
of  the  pi'eceding  night's  entertainment,  and  Isolde  had  not 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  315 

dispelled  his  happy  illusion.  To  her  relief  and  surprise, 
Steele  ate  heartily.  His  magnificent  physique,  with  its 
virile  recuperative  powers,  was  asserting  itself.  The 
despair  of  the  night  before  had  been  a  weak  delirium, 
from  which  he  awoke  to  strength,  if  not  to  hope.  As  the 
clock  chimed  the  hour  of  nine,  he  rose  from  the  table. 
Isolde  followed  him  into  the  hall.  The  nurse  was  just 
descending  the  stairs,  the  baby  in  her  arms.  Isolde  took 
him  from  her,  and  the  girl  passed  on.  Then  she  held 
him  toward  her  husband. 

"Kiss  him,"  she  said,  softly. 

She  felt  a  tender  hope,  poor  young  mother,  that  the 
memory  of  the  innocent,  childish  face  would  remain  with 
him,  and  strengthen  him  for  whatever  conflict  the  day 
might  bring.  The  revelations  of  the  night  of  the  dinner 
had  well-nigh  broken  her  gentle  heart,  but  she  had  put 
aside  all  thought  of  self,  knowing,  instinctively,  that  her 
husband  was  in  dire  need  of  all  her  love  and  tenderness. 
She  yearned  to  go  to  Sal ;  she  yearned  to  go  to  Magdalen  ; 
she  yearned  with  the  weary  pain  of  hopeless  impotence, 
to  right  the  wrongs  of  both.  Upon  the  wrong  done  her, 
she  did  not  suffer  her  thoughts  to  dwell.  She  was  no 
longer  the  passionate  girl  who  had  fled  from  her  home 
into  the  bitter  night,  because  the  mantle  of  vice  had 
dared  to  brush  against  her ;  but  the  conscientious, 
patient,  resigned  woman,  facing  her  wrongs,  not  fleeing 
them,  steadfastly  following  the  way  of  the  Master,  Who, 
with  bleeding  feet,  first  trod  the  Via  Crucis  of  the 
Christian  life.  Not  but  that  she  resolved  one  wrong 
should  end,  and  one  be  righted.  She  had  thought  out 
both  termination  and  reparation  in  the  sleepless  hours  of 
the  previous  night,  while  her  baby,  hers  and  his,  dreamed 
its  heaven-born  dreams  beside  her.  But  these  resolves 


316  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

were  born  of  duty,  not  of  resentment.  Personal  resent- 
ment, indeed,  she  no  longer  felt.  Pain  and  pity  for  the 
mortal  guilt  of  the  man  she  loved,  absorbed  her. 

As  he  drew  on  his  coat  the  bell  pealed  noisily.  He 
opened  the  door,  and  was  confronted  by  the  anxious  face 
of  his  cashier. 

"I  came  to  warn  you  that  there  is  a  run  on  the  bank," 
he  said. 

The  banker  reeled  against  the  door. 

"  Already  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"Rundell  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,"  the  cashier  explained. 
"  He  stayed  over  Sunday  at  the  hotel,  and  started  the 
rumor  that  we  are  dependent  upon  the  Denver  Bank, 
which  suspends  payment  this  morning.  The  run  looks 
serious.  I  did  not  wish  to  act  without  your  orders." 

"We  will  walk  to  the  bank  together,"  he  said.  Then 
he  turned  back  to  Isolde. 

"  Order  the  carriage  at  once,"  he  said,  "  and  ask  father 
to  drive  you  to  the  ranch.  Remain  there  until  I  send  for 
you." 

"  Steele,"  she  cried,  imploringly. 

At  the  cry,  he  looked  back.  She  stood  in  the  morning 
sunlight,  leaning  toward  him  with  awed  white  face  and 
pleading  eyes,  her  baby  in  her  arms. 

Turning  back,  he  caught  her  to  him  in  a  wordless,  close 
embrace  ;  then  without  one  backward  glance,  he  left  her. 

In  that  mute  kiss,  though  they  knew  it  not,  their  lips 
had  bidden  to  love  and  to  each  other  a  last,  eternal  fare- 
well 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


THE    WAGES    OF    SIN    IS 


At  the  private  entrance  to  the  bank  his  father  met  him, 
pointing  with  trembling  hand  to  the  crowd  clamoring  at 
the  public  door. 

"  I've  spoke  ter  'em,  but  'tain't  made  no  differ',"  he 
quavered.  "  They  say  as  how  words  is  all  very  well,  but 
money's  better'r.  I  axed  'em  ef  they'd  ever  wanted  fur 
money  as  John  Harriman  owed  'em,  an'  they  said  'twarn't 
wi'  John  Harriman  they're  dealin'  now,  but  wi'  John  Har- 
riman's  son.  Wot's  getten  inter  'em  ter  talk  that  there 
way,  Steele  ?  Wot's  gone  wrong  atwixt  ye  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Steele,  forcing  a  smile  as  he 
spoke.  "  The  run  is  the  result  of  a  senseless  scare,  start- 
ed by  an  enemy.  I  will  pay  them  off  as  they  come,  and 
by  night  they  will  be  ashamed  of  themselves.  The  rumor 
has  reached  the  house,  and  Isolde  is  nervous.  I  want  you 
to  drive  her  to  the  ranch,  father.  You  can  do  nothing 
for  me  here." 

The  old  man  hesitated.  "  I  can't  leave  ye  ter  face  yer 
trouble  single-handed,"  he  said. 

Steele  feigned  a  laugh.  "  My  trouble,  father?  Why, 
this  is  a  joke — absolutely  a  joke  !  You  will  see  them 
shambling  back  humbly  enough  to-morrow.  Go,  for  my 
sake  ;  and  whatever  rumors  reach  you,  do  not  believe 
them.  If  anything  serious  turns  up,  I  will  send  for  you." 


318  A   SON  OF  ESAU. 

The  old  man's  face  was  averted,  but  a  glistening  drop 
trickling  slowly  down  bis  cheek  betrayed  him. 

"Why,  father,"  exclaimed  his  son,  "I  do  believe  that 
you  are  crying,  like  a  woman  ! " 

The  grand  old  face  was  radiant  behind  its  tears,  like 
the  sun  behind  a  shower. 

"  I  was  thankin'  God  fur  givin'  me  sech  a  good  son, 
sech  a  true  sou  ! "  he  sobbed.  "  I  was  thinkin'  how  it 
might  o'  b'en  ef  all  this  warn't  a  joke  ;  ef — ef  'twar  in 
'arnest,  an' — an'  ye'd  desarv'd  it !  " 

He  turned  away,  with  a  hearty  pressure  of  his  son's 
hand,  and  a  whispered  "  God  bless  ye  !  "  Steele's  defiant 
eyes,  as  they  followed  the  aged  figure,  softened  with  sud- 
den tears. 

"Poor  old  father  !  "  he  murmured.  " If — if  anything 
should  happen  to  me ' 

He  pulled  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and  took  a  deep 
draught  from  it ;  then,  with  a  bracing  gesture  of  his 
strong  young  shoulders,  he  entered  upon  the  day's  work. 

Kingsley  arrived  during  the  forenoon — his  first  appear- 
ance in  Newfield  since  Isolde  had  disdainfully  dismissed 
him  from  the  Harriman  breakfast-room.  Steele  greeted 
him  surlily.  Surliness  was  the  mask  with  which  he  hid 
his  shame.  He  had  reason  to  be  ashamed  in  Kiugsley's 
presence,  more  reason  than,  as  yet,  even  Kingsley  knew. 
Unknown  to  Newfield,  which  supposed  the  bank  to  be 
Steele  Harriman's  private  venture,  Kingsley,  for  the  last 
nine  months,  had  been  the  banker's  "silent  partner." 
From  the  first  he  had  known  the  partnership  to  be  a  reck- 
less speculation — to-day  he  learned  that  it  had  been  a 
ruinous  one.  Not  only  was  his  capital  lost,  but  he  was 
legally  bound  to  share  the  banker's  liabilities,  should  the 
bank  fail — which  ominous  possibility  seemed  suddenly 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  319 

imminent.  Moreover,  should  the  real  culprit  turn  de- 
serter— and  Kingsley  could  not  but  realize  that  should 
the  worst  come  to  worst,  nothing  but  flight  could  save 
Steele — the  entire  responsibility  would  devolve  upon  him. 
He  left  for  Denver  at  noon,  with  a  pate  face  and  eyes  that 
foresaw  trouble.  But  his  parting  word  to  Steele  was  a 
kind  one. 

"Do  the  best  you  can  for  yourself,"  he  said.  "I  have 
no  wife  to  suffer  with  me." 

At  two  o'clock  there  was  a  knock  at  the  private  door. 
As  it  opened,  Steele  started  back  with  an  amazed  excla- 
mation. His  visitor  was  a  woman. 

With  a  word  of  apology  to  the  crowd  pressed  about  it, 
he  drew  down  his  window,  and  motioned  his  cashier 
to  shut  the  door  connecting  their  apartments.  When 
this  was  done,  the  two  were  virtually  alone. 

"  Magdalen  !  "  he  said,  then. 

In  silence  she  lifted  the  heavy  veil  that  concealed  her 
face.  Then  unlocking,  with  a  key  hanging  from  her 
watch-guard,  a  satchel  secured  by  a  strap  that  crossed  her 
shoulder,  she  took  from  it  a  bulky  package  of  bank-notes, 
and  laid  it  on  his  desk. 

For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
Then  the  man's  eyes  fell. 

"Five  thousand  dollars,"  she  said,  in  a  bitter  voice; 
"  the  balance  of  the  sum  placed  to  my  credit  six  months 
ago.  I  wish  to  God  that  I  could  return  the  full  sum.  I 
wish  to  God  that  we  had  never  met !  " 

She  had  bowed  her  head  and  was  leaning  upon  his 
desk,  shaken  from  head  to  foot  with  tearless  sobs. 
Something  in  the  despairing  attitude  of  the  regal  figure 
touched  him.  In  her  presence,  incongruous  as  it  may 
seem,  he  was  seldom  at  his  worst. 


320  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"I  am  sorry,  Magdalen,"  he  said,  helplessly. 

She  lifted  her  face  and  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to 
him. 

"  Before  I  met  you,"  she  said,  "  my  life  was  a  clean 
page.  No  man  had  written  dishonor  or  shame  upon  it. 
Kingsley — Kiugsley " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said.  "Kingsley  would  have  mar- 
ried you.  You — you  owe  me  no  kindness,  Magdalen. 
Keep  your  money.  I  cannot  accept  it." 

"You  must  accept  it,"  she  said,  firmly.  "  It  is  the  least 
— the  last — honor  you  can  do  me.  I  am  going  out  of 
your  life  forever.  Good-by." 

Over  the  soft  carpet  her  light  footfalls  made  no  sound. 
The  outer  door  opened  and  shut.  She  was  gone. 

With  nervous  hands  he  caught  up  the  bank-notes  and 
counted  them  rapidly.  Five  thousand  dollars  !  Not  a 
drop  in  the  bucket,  should  the  worst  corne  to, the  worst ; 
but  a  faint  hope  was  springing  up  in  the  man's  heart, 
that  the  worst  might  be  averted.  The  prompt  and  un- 
questioning payment  which  had  been  made  all  day  had 
restored  general  confidence.  There  were  no  more  out- 
spoken suspicions  nor  muttered  threats.  At  the  first 
stroke  of  the  hour  which  was  the  usual  signal  for  closing, 
Steele  shut  the  books.  The  men  about  his  window  fell 
back  with  shamed  faces  as  his  contemptuous  eyes  chal- 
lenged them. 

"  You  have  seen  enough  to-day,"  he  said,  in  a  ringing 
voice  that  echoed  through  the  bank,  "  to  prove  the 
utter  falseness  of  your  suspicions.  I  did  not  tell  you 
that  you  were  fools,  because  I  chose  to  let  you  dis- 
cover that  fact  for  yourselves.  Resume  your  run  to- 
morrow, and  your  accounts,  to  the  last  one,  shall  be 
closed.  The  Harriman  Bank  is  dissolved.  I  will  not 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  321 

accept  the  restored  trust  of  the  men  who  have  once  dis- 
trusted ine." 

Without  a  word  the  men  slunk  out.  The  crowd 
jeered  them. 

"  Steele  Harriman's  tongue-lashin's  turned  ye  inter 
whipped  curs,  wi'  yer  tails  atween  yer  legs,"  cried  a 
mocking  voice.  "  Wot's  he  b'en  a-sayin'  of  ?  " 

"  He  sez  ez  how  we've  made  fools  o'  oursel's,"  respond- 
ed one  of  the  tongue-lashed.  "  /  sez  ez  how  we've  made 
darned  fools  of  ourselves." 

This  sentiment  proved  contagious,  and  the  crowd,  its 
confidence  in  bank  and  bankers  alike  restored,  began  to 
disperse.  As  the  bank  door  closed  upon  the  last  apolo- 
getic figure,  the  banker  turned  to  his  cashiers. 

"Put  up  the  books,  boys,"  he  said.  "You  have  had  a 
hard  day.  I  will  see  to  the  safes  before  Billy  comes  to 
lock  up.  Go  out  the  front  way,  through  the  crowd,  and 
say  that  I  have  already  left  by  the  reai%  They  will  hang 
about  if  they  suspect  that  I  ana  still  in  the  bank." 

The  young  men  obeyed  with  alacrity.  The  groups 
still  lounging  before  the  bank  closed  about  them  with 
eager  questions.  Taking  advantage  of  the  moment, 
Steele  opened  the  private  door.  As  he  had  expected, 
Ladybird  was  already  there.  A  quick  glance  about  him 
showed  him  that  he  was  unobserved. 

"  Bring  the  mare  in  here  !     Quick,  lad  !  "  he  whispered. 

The  boy  stared  at  him  stupidly. 

"  Bring — th' — mare — in  ?  "  he  repeated,  incredulously. 

"  In,  you  fool,  in !  "  he  cried. 

The  mare,  obeying  his  voice  and  gesture,  followed  him 
with  a  low  whinny.  The  boy  gawked  at  her  with  open 
mouth,  as  she  stepped  lightly  over  the  threshold  onto 
the  velvet  carpet. 


322  A  SOI?  OF  ESAU. 

"  I'm  dumm'J  ef  th'  boss  ain't  gone  crazy  ez  a  branded 
bull,"  he  ruminated,  scratching  his  head  through  a  hole 
in  his  ragged  cap.  "A  hoss  onter  thet  theer  kyarpet! 
Red  Injuns  !  " 

He  followed  the  mare  in  dazed  fashion.  Steele  shut 
and  locked  the  door  after  him. 

"  Let  down  the  blinds,  as  usual,"  he  said,  "  and  don't 
gape  like  a  blasted  idiot.  If  they  saw  the  mare  they  would 
wait  for  me,  and  I  am  not  in  the  mood  to  bandy  words 
with  the  fools.  Now,  do  you  understand?  " 

Billy  shuffled  toward  the  window,  relieved,  but  not  con- 
vinced. "  A  hoss  onter  thet  theer  kyarpet  "  was  too  much 
for  him,  explanations  notwithstanding.  The  loungers 
without,  catching  sight  of  his  staring  eyes,  thought  that 
their  presence  awed  him,  and  mischievously  proceeded  to 
intimidate  him  with  deadly  threats  and  belligerent  gest- 
ures, the  evident  effect  of  which  they  greeted  with  howls 
of  glee.  One  man  threw  a  small  stone  against  one  of  the 
windows,  but  was  promptly  hustled  out  of  temptation's 
way  by  his  companions.  They  had  nothing  against  the 
bank  now ;  not  they  !  It  was  dealing  squarely  by  them, 
and  they  would  deal  squarely  by  it.  No  weather-vane  is 
more  veering  than  the  temper  of  a  mob. 

When  the  last  shutter  was  down,  and  the  last  bolt 
slipped  into  its  place,  Billy  departed,  still  scratching  his 
head  over  the  problem  of  "a  hoss  outer  thet  theer  kyar- 
pet." At  last  the  banker  was  alone.  With  his  head  bowed 
on  his  desk,  he  sat,  thinking,  thinking.  The  run  on  the 
bank  no  longer  troubled  him.  The  worst  was  over,  and 
he  was  not  unhopeful  that  he  could  satisfy  the  demands 
of  such  few  depositors  as  might  yet  choose  to  close  their 
accounts  ;  but  the  bank,  alas,  was  the  least  of  his  respon- 
sibilities !  In  his  reckless  financial  ambition  he  had  vent- 


A   SON  OF  ESAU.  323 

ured  far  outside  of  his  legitimate  field,  and  it  was  beyond 
its  borders  that  ruin  threatened  him.  How  was  he  to  avert 
it  ?  Absorbed  in  the  thought,  he  was  unconsciously  finger- 
ing the  notes  Magdalen  had  left,  and  which  he  had  not  yet 
locked  away,  when  the  sound  of  a  sudden  tumult  outside 
roused  him  from  his  reverie.  He  drew  on  his  light  overcoat, 
and  cramming  the  notes  into  its  inner  pocket,  crouched 
against  the  iron  shutter  of  the  bank-door,  and  listened. 

"  Th'  Denver  bank's  shet  down  ter-day,"  cried  a  strident 
voice,  "  w'ich  means  ez  th'  Newfield  bank  '11  shet  down 
ter-morrer.  Steele  Harriman's  kep'  dark,  but  th'  Denver 
Bank  war  his'n.  Th'  Denver  News'  extry  sez  so !  " 

There  was  a  groan  from  the  crowd. 

The  voice  resumed:  "  Th'  banks  ain't  all  th'  extry 's 
got  inter  it,  not  by  a  darned  deal !  Thar's  wusser  comin'. 
Th'  Weste'n  Land  Comp'ny's  gone  kersmash,  an'  ye  all 
know  wot  thet  thar  means — th'  little  lots  ez  we've  slaved 
ter  hold  an'  pay  fur  's  gone  wi'  it." 

Cries  and  oaths  responded.  Above  them  sounded  a 
woman's  Ii3'sterical  sob. 

"  An'  now,  chaps  " — the  speaker  had  mounted  the  bank- 
steps,  and  only  the  iron  door  divided  him  from  the  des- 
perate, despairing  listener  crouching  on  the  bank  floor — 
"  an'  now,  chaps,  ye've  heerd  th'  extry,  an'  now  hear  me ! 
I'm  a  plain  man,  an'  a  hard-workin'  man,  an'  my  woman 
hain't  hed  no  silks  nor  di'mants,  nor  my  gals  don't  play 
th'  pyanner,  nor  set  down  fer  help  ter  wait  on.  But  plain 
livin'  fur  plain  folks  's  my  motto,  an'  I've  stood  up  ag'in' 
ye  fur  Steele  Harriman,  thro'  likin'  th'  chap,  an'  his  father 
afore  him,  an'  holdin'  ez  twarn't  no  affair  o'  mine  how  he 
spent  his  own  pile,  so's  he  stood  by  mine.  But  he  hain't 
stood  by  mine,  nor  he  hain't  stood  by  yern,  chaps  !  He's 
fool'd  us  fro'  th'  fust-off  start.  He's  robb'd  us  right  an' 


324  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

left,  an'  we  hain't  bed  th'  git-up  ter  see  it.  Th'  Land 
Comp'ny's  a  sell — th'  extry  sez  so  ! — an'  wot's  fur  an'  away 
wuss  fur  me  an'  more  liker  me,  th'  Mine  Comp'ny's  a  sell ! 
This  'yer  run  onter  th'  bank's  got  wind,  an'  th'  truth's 
come  out  ter  last.  Thar's  wirin's  fro'  far  an'  near,  an' 
theer  all  ag'in'  us.  Th'  Mine  Comp'nies  's  wi'out  a  mine 
atwixt  'em.  Thar  war  deep  enough  pockets  ter  theer 
trousers,  but  nary  a  one  ter  theer  mines.  We've  getteu 
our  shar's — honest  paper — these  'yer's  mine.  Ain't  them 
purty  things,  now,  fur  ter  pay  over  five  years'  savin's  far  ? 
Th'  Open-Mouth  Mine,  it  sez  onter  'em.  Wai,  now,  thar 
ain't  no  Open-Mouth  Mine.  Thar  ain't  a  pick  nor  a  pan 
in  th'  hull  diggin's.  Steele  Harrimau's  play'd  a  bluff 
game,  an'  he's  beat  us,  ev'ry  time  !  " 

There  was  a  sullen  roar  of  anger  from  the  crowd,  fol- 
lowed by  a  dull  sound,  as  it  surged  against  doors  and 
windows.  But  the  banker  did  not  hear  it.  As  the  man 
spoke,  he  had  dashed  to  the  private  door,  backed  Lady- 
bird out,  her  light  hoofs  passing  noiselessly  from  carpet 
to  soil,  and  stealthily  crossing  the  open  field  at  the  rear  of 
the  bank,  had  given  the  mare  her  head,  and  was  dashing 
madly  along  toward  the  Junction  tracks. 

But  the  distance  was  not  half  compassed  when  a  faint 
sound  from  behind  struck  on  his  ear.  He  pulled  up  Lady- 
bird and  listened.  Were  they  already  on  his  track  ?  An 
instant  later  the  fear  became  a  certainty.  They  had  dis- 
covered his  flight,  and  were  already  in  pursuit  of  him. 

He  dashed  ahead  at  desperate  speed,  mentally  weighing, 
meantime,  his  chances  of  escape.  He  would  back  his  mare 
against  all  the  mustangs  behind  her,  but  to  outrace  them 
now  was  nothing.  The  express  was  not  due  for  an  hour,  and 
unless  he  could  throw  them  off  the  scent  the  delay  would 
be  fatal  to  him.  But  if  not  toward  the  Junction,  where 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  325 

should  he  ride?  The  fierce  curses  rushing  to  his  lips 
seemed  to  choke  him.  His  breath  came  in  strangling, 
sob-like  gasps.  The  air,  as  it  hissed  past  him,  caught 
up  his  despairing  question.  "  Where?  "  it  reiterated,  be- 
fore, around,  behind  him.  "  Where  ?  Where  ?  Where  ?  " 

In  his  irresolution  he  had  held  in  the  mare,  uncon- 
sciously slackening  her  pace.  Of  a  sudden  he  realized 
that  his  pursuers  had  gained  upon  him.  With  a  stifled 
cry,  he  dashed  from  the  road  into  a  narrow  footpath 
closely  overgrown  with  shrub  and  brush,  which  seemed  to 
lose  itself  a  few  rods  ahead  in  a  dense  pine  thicket.  He 
halted  in  its  shadow,  crouching  in  the  saddle  with  pant- 
ing breath,  and  watched  with  wild,  fierce  eyes  as  his  pur- 
suers sped  by,  shouting  and  swearing,  and  urging  on 
their  galloping  horses  with  whip  and  spur. 

As  the  last  one  galloped  out  of  sight,  he  turned  Lady- 
bird's head,  and  spoke  a  low  word  to  her.  With  an  in- 
telligent whinny  she  sprung  through  the  pine-thicket 
The  narrow  path,  long  untrodden  by  man  or  beast,  was 
almost  impassable,  even  on  foot.  For  a  horseman  it  was 
wellnigh  impenetrable,  yet  the  brave  mare  stumbled  on. 
His  pursuers  would,  he  knew,  press  straight  on  from  the 
big  house  to  the  Ledge,  and  thence  to  the  Junction.  By 
this  short  cut,  if  Ladybird  could  make  it,  he  would  gain 
a  clear  half-hour  upon  them.  As  the  mare  strained  on, 
his  brain  began  to  reel,  his  reason  was  almost  unseated. 
A  rushing  sound,  ever  increasing  in  violence,  surged  shud- 
deringly  about  him.  It  bewildered,  terrified  him.  Was 
it  the  warning  of  his  prophetic  soul,  crying  out  that 
judgment  had  overtaken  him?  Was  it  the  shriek  of 
demon-voices,  as  the  gates  of  hell  flamed  open  for  him  ? 

No,  it  was  only  the  ominous  voice  of  the  swollen 
Freshet — the  roar  of  its  waters,  rising,  rising ! 


CHAPTEE  XXXIL 

DEATH  !  " 

He  was  dashing  past  the  Freshet  cabin  toward  the 
Junction,  when  his  mare  reared  suddenly,  her  mad  pace 
arrested  by  Sal's  strong  hand  on  her  bridle. 

"They're  ter  th'  Ledge  a'ready,  an'  they'll  spot  yo'  fro' 
th'  winders,"  she  panted.  "Foot  it  acrost  th'  marsh-way 
ter  th'  Junction,  an'  yo'll  jest  about  ketch  th'  flyer.  Don't 
fool  wi'  your  last  show." 

She  darted  into  the  cabin  with  an  imperious  call  for  him 
to  follow.  He  threw  the  reins  on  Ladybird's  neck  and 
dismounted,  obeying  her  in  a  dazed  way,  yet  with  a  gleam 
of  hope  dawning  upon  the  lethargy  of  his  despair. 

As  he  stepped  across  the  threshold,  however,  a  dread 
sound  reached  him — the  sound  of  shouts  which  the 
wind  brought  from  the  Ledge.  "  It's  too  late  ! "  he  said  ; 
"I'm  done  for,  Sal!" 

He  tapped  his  breast-pocket  significantly. 

"This— or  the  Freshet  ? "  he  asked.  "  Which  shall  it 
be?" 

She  struck  down  his  hand  with  a  contemptuous  gesture. 

"  Your  coat,  quick  !  "  she  cried. 

Before  he  realized  her  intention  she  had  torn  his 
light  coat  from  his  shoulders,  and  drawn  it  over  her 
woman's  garb.  On  the  table  lay  a  gray  sombrero,  similar 
in  tint  and  shape  to  one  he  often  wore — a  style  common 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  327 

to  both  men  and  women  in  wilder  parts  of  the  West. 
This  she  put  on,  pushing  it  well  back  till  its  biim  con- 
cealed her  hair. 

"  I've  a  ride  fur  life  afore  me,"  she  panted  ;  "  a  ride  fur 
your  life.  I'm  riskin'  mine,  not  fur  yo',  but  fur  her  ez 
stood  by  me  !  I've  writ  down  outer  this  'yer  paper  ez 
Waif's  her'n,  ef  aught  goes  wrong  wi'  me.  Pin  it  onter 
her  skirt  fur  me.  I — I  can't  do  it." 

She  caught  the  wondering  child  from  the  hammock, 
and  clasped  her  in  a  clinging,  passionately  fond  embrace. 
An  instant  later  she  had  crossed  the  road,  and  was  vault- 
ing, man-fashion,  into  Ladybird's  saddle. 

He  followed  her  with  set  white  face.  The  last  in- 
stinct of  honest  manhood  surviving  in  him — the  instinct 
which,  at  the  cost  of  his  own  ruin,  had  impelled  him 
to  avenge  the  insult  offered  his  wife  now  impelled  him 
to  tell  this  woman  the  truth,  though  his  life  was  in  her 
hands. 

"Sal,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  go  until  I  tell  you  the  truth. 
Jack  was  never  married  to  Kose  KundelL  You  are  his 
legal  wife,  Waif  his  legitimate  child.  Isolde  knows  the 
truth.  She  will  see  you  righted." 

She  heard  him  almost  incredulously.  All  her  shame, 
all  her  loneliness,  all  the  torture  of  her  outcast  life  and 
evil  fame,  all  the  wrong  and  pathos  of  her  innocent  child's 
brief  life,  the  fruit  of  this  man's  lie !  And  she  was  risk- 
ing her  life,  the  desertion  of  her  friendless,  helpless  child, 
for  him.  She  made  an  attempt  to  dismount,  but  her 
strength  failed  her.  With  both  hands  she  clutched  her 
strangling  throat. 

The  hoofs  sounded  nearer.  They  were  speeding  round 
the  angle  of  the  Ledge  cross-roads.  Through  a  cloud  of 
dust  the  heads  of  the  leaders  were  just  discernible. 


328  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

With  a  sob  that  was  almost  a  cry,  she  bent,  and  with 
fierce  hands  pushed  him  from  her  toward  the  cabin. 

"God  forgive  yo',"  she  sobbed,  "an*  save  yo' — fur  her 
sake  ! " 

Then,  as  the  cabin-door  swung  behind  him,  she  rode 
Ladybird  into  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  waited. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  ;  then  a  hoarse  shout 
rang  from  the  foremost  of  the  pursuers,  announcing  that 
Ladybird  was  recognized.  She  waited  an  instant  longer, 
that  the  well-known  mare  and  familiar  gray  coat  and 
sombrero  might  be  fully  identified,  and  then,  giving 
Ladybird  her  head,  she  was  off — off  on  the  heroic  ride  that 
risked  her  life  for  the  man  who  had  ruthlessly  blasted  it. 

Two  miles !  three  miles  !  five  miles  !  Ladybird  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  hour,  and  led  the  mob  a  gallant  chase. 
The  wind  hissed  by  ;  the  mountains,  the  pines,  the  bushes 
sped  past  on  lightning  wings.  The  twilight  deepened 
to  darkness,  relieved  by  the  flickering  spaz'ks  of  the  ig- 
niting stars.  The  pursuers,  desperate  lest  their  prey  es- 
cape them  under  cover  of  the  shadows,  sunk  spurs  deeper 
and  deeper  into  their  horses'  shuddering  flanks,  uttering 
cries  of  triumph  as  a  spurt  of  speed  brought  the  bay  and 
its  intrepid  rider  at  last  within  their  range.  A  score  of 
hands  lifted  simultaneously ;  a  score  of  shots  rang  sharply 
over  the  silent  night.  There  was  a  moment  of  breathless 
suspense  as  the  smoke  cleared  away,  then  a  wild  cheer 
rose  from  the  crowd.  The  noble  mare  was  down,  riddled 
with  cruel  bullets ;  and  prostrate  beside  her  lay  her  rider, 
motionless,  face  downward  in  the  dust,  a  telltale  stream 
of  blood  oozing  from  one  outstretched  arm. 

In  a  trice  they  were  on  her,  lifting  her  with  brutal 
hands,  which,  as  they  turned  her  face  to  the  sky,  grew 
suddenly  gentle. 


A  SOX  OF  ESAU.  329 

"  'Taiu't  him,  by  the  devil !  " 

"  Good  Lord,  it's  a  woman  !  " 

Down  the  gray  sleeve  the  red  blood  trickled  drop  by 
drop — drop  by  drop.  First  in  a  little  pool,  then  in  a  tiny 
stream,  it  stained  the  dust.  They  fell  back  from  the 
ghastly  sight,  looking  at  one  another  with  pale,  remorseful 
faces.  With  lips  white  as  her  own,  above  her  face  up- 
turned to  the  still  sky,  tenderly,  one  to  another,  they 
whispered  her  piteous  woman-name. 

"  Freshet  Sal !  "  they  faltered.     "  Freshet  Sal !  " 

The  express  would  be  due  at  the  Junction  in  less  than 
half  an  hour.  The  marsh-way  was  roundabout  and  hard 
to  travel,  owing  to  the  treacherous  water-soaked  soil.  If 
the  fugitive  would  not  lose  his  last  small  chance,  he  must 
act  quickly.  As  he  emerged  from  the  inner  room  of  the 
cabin  in  which  he  had  concealed  himself  till  the  sound  of 
the  hoofs  died  away,  his  thoughts  reverted  to  his  coat,  the 
pocket  of  which,  in  his  bewilderment  at  Sal's  sudden  ac- 
tion, he  had  forgotten  to  empty.  With  desperate  hands 
he  clutched  his  pockets,  turning  them  inside  out,  and 
emptying  their  contents  on  the  cabin-floor.  Cigar-case, 
match  safe,  flask,  pistol,  watch,  knife,  handkerchief,  cards, 
letters,  stamps,  keys — a  few  loose  coins  of  gold  .and  silver, 
and  his  purse  !  With  trembling  hands,  he  opened  it.  A 
hundred  dollars  in  bills,  and  a  couple  of  gold  pieces — 
these  were  all.  For  a  moment  he  despaired  ;  then  hope 
reasserted  itself.  Bad  as  things  were,  they  might  have 
been  worse.  He  could  lie  in  ambush  till  the  money  in 
Sal's  possession  should  be  forwarded  to  him  through 
faithful  Jim  ;  and  then — there  were  lands  to  which  the 
extradition-treaty  did  not  extend — lands  in  which  he 
might  begin  life  anew  ;  life,  with  its  proud  ambitions,  its 


330  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

luring  pleasures,  its  golden  goals.  Hastily  gathering  up 
the  scattered  articles,  he  replaced  them  in  his  pockets ; 
and  then,  drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  stepped  toward 
the  door.  Half  a  pace  from  it  he  paused.  What  was 
it — that  sudden  dreadful  sound  thundering  from  the  dis- 
tance toward  him — that  sudden,  awful  sensation  as  the 
cabin  stirred  and  trembled  like  a  human  creature  in  fear  ? 
What  was  it — what  was  it  ? 

There  was  a  startled  cry  from  Waif,  and  then  tense  si- 
lence, as  both  man  and  child  listened  in  spell-bound  terror. 
For  a  moment  the  sound  was  dully  deafening,  but  gradu- 
ally it  subsided,  only  a  subdued  surge  and  gurgle  remain- 
ing. The  cabin  seemed  to  steady  itself,  but  its  walls 
still  vibrated  with  the  regular,  smothered  thuds  of  some 
opposing  outer  force.  At  the  same  time  there  came 
through  the  window  opening  on  the  Freshet  a  blinding 
shower  of  spray.  As  it  dashed  in  Steele's  face,  he  under- 
stood. To  shut  the  window  and  drop  its  inner  shutter 
was  the  work  of  but  an  instant.  Then  he  sprung  to  the 
door.  A  foamy  tide  swept  in  as  he  opened  it,  eddying 
like  a  miniature  whirlpool  about  his  feet.  He  pressed 
forward  defiantly.  In  an  instant  he  was  up  to  his  waist  in 
water,  and  almost  swept  off  his  feet.  Stepping  to  one 
side,  that  the  cabin-light  might  shine  through  the  door, 
he  peered  with  wild  eyes  into  the  falling  darkness.  Before 
him,  to  right  and  left  of  him,  there  was  nothing  but  rush- 
ing water.  The  dyke  had  broken,  and  the  swollen  Ar- 
kansas was  flooding  its  fork.  The  Freshet  hemmed  him  in. 

He  staggered  back  into  the  cabin,  with  difficulty  shut- 
ting the  door  in  the  face  of  the  rising  water.  Then  he 
pushed  the  table  against  it.  He  recollected  now,  that  for 
some  days  there  had  been  grave  fears  of  the  Freshet ;  that 
Isolde  had  begged  him,  only  two  days  before,  to  force 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  331 

Sal  into  safer  quarters,  and  that  a  party  of  commissioners 
and  workmen  bad  ridden  out  that  morning  to  examine 
and  strengthen  the  dyke.  Little  by  little  the  old  story 
of  the  fatal  freshet,  the  horror-tale  of  his  childhood,  came 
back  to  him.  He  recalled  how,  more  then  thirty  years 
before,  a  horseman  had  galloped  at  midnight  over  the 
ground  now  known  as  the  Freshet  cross-roads,  and  dis- 
mounted a  few  rods  further  on,  to  tighten  a  girth  ;  how 
he  had  been  surprised  by  a  sudden  thunder-like  boom, 
distant  at  first,  but  reverberating  nearer  and  nearer,  then 
by  a  rushing,  gurgling  sound  behind  him,  and  had  looked 
back  to  behold  the  tract  over  which  he  had  galloped  five 
minutes  before,  a  swirling  expanse  of  water  ;  how  for  thi'ee 
days  and  nights  the  waters  had  surged  there,  leaving  be- 
hind them,  to  tell  of  the  ill-fated  settlement,  only  a  few 
spars  from  the  cabin- wrecks.  He  saw  the  tents  and  cabins 
drifting  out,  saw  the  men  struggling  in  the  rushing 
waters,  heard  their  despairing  shrieks  as  the  dark  tide 
sucked  them  down  forever.  He  shuddered  convulsively. 
Cold  drops  of  agony  stood  on  his  forehead.  Suddenly, 
he  started  up  with  an  appealing  cry.  The  gurgle  about 
the  cabin  had  been  succeeded  by  a  series  of  sullen  booms 
accompanied  by  steady  shocks,  under  which  the  cabin 
creaked  and  trembled  ominously  ;  and  now,  from  under 
the  door,  even  to  his  feet,  flowed  a  deepening  stream  of 
foam-flecked  water.  In  the  back  of  the  cabin  a  station- 
ary ladder  led  to  a  loft  opening  upon  the  roof.  With  a 
bound  he  scaled  it.  The  last  ray  of  light  had  vanished. 
Beaching  the  slanting  roof,  the  darkness  of  death  engulfed 
him  ;  the  dark  skies  lowered  above  him ;  the  dark  night 
encompassed  him  ;  the  dark  waters  swelled  beneath  him. 
As  they  surged  up  toward  him,  a  terrible  cry  rang  from 
his  shuddering  lips. 


332  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"Help!     Help!     The  boat!     Tlieboat!    Help!" 
He  forgot  the  pursuers  be  bad  eluded,  tbe  capture  be 
was  inviting,  tbe  danger  he  bad  not  yet  escaped — forgot 
everything   save   those   yawning,    black-depthed   waters, 
straining  hungrily  toward  the  cabin-roof. 

Driving  leisurely  from  the  prairie  into  tbe  Ledge  road, 
a  man  beard  the  wild  cry  and  answered  it.  The  answer 
was  only  the  faintest  note  echoing  from  the  distance,  but 
Steele  caught  it.  He  lowered  himself  into  the  cabin  and 
snatched  tbe  lamp  from  the  table.  The  lighter  furniture 
was  already  swimming  about  the  room  ;  a  moment  later, 
and  the  lamp  must  have  yielded  its  precious  flame  to  its 
elemental  enemy.  As  be  was  turning  back  to  the  ladder, 
the  sound  of  Waifs  frightened  sob  reached  him.  "With  a 
sensation  of  relief  at  the  proximity  of  a  fellow  human 
creature,  he  folded  bis  disengaged  arm  about  her,  and 
mounted  with  her  to  the  roof,  waving  tbe  lamp  above 
bis  head  as  be  cried  again  for  help.  The  responsive  voice, 
though  nearer  than  before,  sounded  hopelessly  distant  to 
the  man  toward  whom  the  fatal  waves  rose  swiftly.  A 
mad  desire  possessed  him  to  leap  into  them,  to  breast,  to 
defy,  to  conquer  them.  As  he  hesitated,  there  was  a 
crash  beneath  him.  A  portion  of  the  cabin-wall  facing  on 
the  Freshet  bad  been  forced  in,  and  through  the  aperture 
the  little  centre-table  drifted.  He  watched  it  breathlessly. 
If  it  floated  on  tbe  waters  he  could  breast  them.  If  it 
sunk — but  the  doubt  was  already  solved.  For  a  moment 
it  trembled,  strained,  resisted  ;  then,  with  an  angry  mur- 
mur the  waters  caught  it,  whirling  it  dizzily  about,  in 
ever-narrowing  circles,  until  the  undercurrent  seized  it 
and  bore  it  resistlessly  outward  toward  tbe  all-devouring 
falls.  He  watched  it  till  the  last  ripple  that  marked  its 
grave  in  the  dark  waters  vanished  ;  then,  with  a  fierce  im- 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  333 

precation,  he  burled  the  lamp  after  it  into  the  swirling 
tide.  Waif,  startled  by  the  sudden  darkness,  began  to 
sob  in  his  arms.  For  one  wild  moment  he  threatened  to 
cast  her,  too,  into  the  seething  waters,  but  of  a  sudden 
his  fierce  face  softened.  He  soothed  her  gently,  rocking 
her  to  and  fro  in  his  arms,  till  her  sobs  were  quieted. 
Then  he  folded  her  closer  to  him,  clasping  her  little  arms 
about  his  neck,  pressing  her  soft  child-cheek  against  his 
own. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  little  Waif,"  his  pale  lips  murmured. 
"  Go  to  sleep." 

"  'Ant  to  pway  my  pwayer,"  she  sobbed.  "  '  Now  I  'ay 
me  ! '  Pway  it !  " 

Pray  it  ?  He  ?  How  many  a  year  since  he  had  prayed 
at  all — how  many  and  many  an  one  since  that  simple  prayer 
of  his  innocent  childhood  had  passed  his  impious  lips. 

"  Pway  it !  "  insisted  Waif. 

On  a  sudden  surge  of  memory,  the  words  came  back 
to  him. 

"Now  Hay  me"  he  began,  almost  unconsciously. 

"  Now  I  'ay  me,"  she  repeated. 

"  Down  to  sleep" 

"  Down  to  s'eep  " — 

"  I  pray  the  Lord," 

"  I  pway  de  'Ord  " — 

"  My  soul  to  keep," 

"  My  soul  to  teep  " — • 

"  And  if  I  die" 

"  An'  if  I  die  "— 

"Before  I  wake  " 

"Afo'  I  wate  " — 

"  I  pray  the  Lord" 

"  I  pway  de  'Ord  "— 


334  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"  My  soul  to  take," 

"My  soul  to  tate  !  " 

With  a  convulsive  sob  he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  He 
had  said  a  prayer — he  !  The  merciful  lethargy  of  despair 
was  broken.  Thoughts  flashed  through  his  brain  like 
flames  from  a  fierce  fire.  Thoughts  not  of  the  present, 
but  of  the  past,  and  of  the  future  the  past  foreshadows. 

Who  shall  follow  them  as  they  sped  backward,  back- 
ward, over  the  sinful  life  whose  every  incident  flashed  be- 
fore him  with  the  awful  clearness  that  is  the  premonitory 
revelation  of  the  great  revealer,  Death  !  He  saw  him- 
self again  a  boy,  a  handsome,  manly,  proud  little  fellow, 
going  his  riotous  way  side  by  side  with  wild,  reckless, 
rollicking  Jack — golden-haired,  blue-eyed,  light-hearted 
Jack,  who  had  been  every  man's  friend  and  no  man's 
enemy,  save  his  own.  He  saw  himself  once  more  a  youth 
— a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  masterful  young  fellow,  tread- 
ing his  native  soil  like  a  prince  and  monarch.  How  proud 
his  father  had  been  of  him — how  cordially  the  town-folk 
had  hailed  him — what  an  imperious,  triumphant  life  he 
had  led,  his  masculine  beauty  the  admiration  of  every 
eye,  his  splendid  prowess  the  envy  of  every  arm,  his  brill- 
iant promise  the  theme  of  every  tongue !  Then  the 
phases  of  early  manhood  passed  before  him — the  phase 
of  mental  pride  and  spiritual  struggle ;  the  phase  of 
doubt,  dispelled  by  divine  conviction,  against  which  he 
had  revolted  because  it  armed  his  spirit  against  his  human 
flesh.  Day  by  da}*,  night  by  night,  scene  by  scene,  that 
fateful  phase  was  re-lived.  Again  he  drank  of  the  draught 
of  sin  whose  stain  had  sullied  the  virginal  lips  of  his  soul 
forever  ;  again  shuddered  from  its  bitter  lees  ;  again  re- 
newed the  resolves,  the  dreams,  the  hopes,  the  aspirations 
of  his  regenerated  spirit.  But  the  regenerative  phase  had 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  335 

been  but  brief,  slain  in  the  very  moment  in  which  his 
guilty  concealment  of  Sal's  honest  wifehood  had  been 
conceived.  Waif's  tiny  form  seemed  a  leaden  weight,  her 
clinging  arms  to  strangle  him  as  he  thought  of  it.  He 
turned  from  the  memory  with  a  shudder,  and  fixed  his 
thoughts  on  Isolde — on  Isolde,  the  dreamful,  sweet,  pure- 
hearted  girl  ;  on  Isolde,  the  fluttering,  shy,  evasive  sweet- 
heart ;  on  Isolde,  the  startled,  shrinking,  yet  ah  !  how  lov- 
ing bride  ;  on  Isolde,  the  wife,  who,  with  her  faith  and 
love  ruthlessly  outraged,  was  faithful,  loving  still  ;  on 
Isolde,  the  sad-eyed,  pure-faced  young  mother  of  his 
child,  his  son — standing  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  with  the 
bright  spring  sunlight  shimmering  around  her,  her  baby 
like  a  flower  on  her  breast.  He  had  not  done  well  by  her, 
poor  Isolde.  Ah,  by  whom  in  all  his  life  had  he  done 
well !  Not  by  his  old  father,  whose  pathetic  faith  he  had 
failed  ;  not  by  Jack,  whom  he  had  left  to  his  own  wild 
way ;  not  by  Sal,  whose  claim  on  him  he  had  outraged 
and  denied  ;  not  by  the  helpless  child  in  his  arms,  in 
whose  veins  ran  the  same  blood  that  coursed  within  his 
own — not  by  these,  of  his  own  kin.  And  what  of  others 
— strangers?  Had  he  done  well  by  Kingsley,  whose 
honor  he  had  risked,  whose  wealth  he  had  lost,  whose  love 
he  had  blasted  ?  Had  he  done  well  by  boyish,  weak  young 
Randal,  whom  he  had  betrayed  to  the  tempters,  cards 
and  women  and  wine?  Had  he  done  well  by  beautiful, 
hapless  Magdalen,  who  had  never  crossed  the  chasm 
save  for  him  ?  Had  he  done  well  by  the  poor,  hard-work- 
ing settlers — by  the  toil-worn  women  who  had  trusted 
tim  —  by  anyone  who  had  ever  relied  on  his  faith,  his 
truth,  his  honor?  No,  a  thousand  times  no.  And  the 
chill,  dark  waters — the  waters  of  death — tolled  about  his 
feet. 


336  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Death  !  the  dreadful  Avord  means — what  ?  The  end  of 
life  !  the  end  only  ?  Or  at  once  an  end  and  a  beginning  ? 
An  endless,  restful,  untroubled  dream, — a  deep,  sweet  si- 
lence,— a  long,  still  torpor, — an  eternal  sleep, — the  pagan 
"dust  to  dust?"  Or,  as  the  Christian,  as  his  own  soul 
told  him, — the  flight  of  the  creature  to  his  Creator,  of  the 
soul  to  its  God,  of  the  sinner  to  the  Tribunal  whose  justice 
cannot  be  blinded,  whose  judgment  is  not  man's,  whose 
sentence  rings  past  life,  past  death,  to  the  eternity  be- 
yond them, — eternity  in  heaven,  eternity  in  hell. 

A  cry  escaped  him,  a  cry  of  awful  terror  and  despair. 
Again  a  voice  responded.  Did  he  dream,  or  rang  it 
no  longer  from  the  distant  shore,  but  from  the  waters 
near  him  ?  Waif  answered  his  wild  question.  With  a 
little  sigh  of  content  that  her  prayer  was  prayed,  she 
had  nestled  down  in  his  arms,  dreamfully  watching  the 
waters,  which  were  not  fearful,  but  only  wonderful  to  her, 
in  the  unfamiliar  phase  whose  portent  she  did  not  know. 
But  now  she  started  suddenly,  and,  stretching  out  her 
arms,  gazed  into  the  spray-veiled  darkness  with  rapt, 
ecstatic  eyes. 

"  De  boat  !  "  she  cried, — "  de  boat  !  " 

There  was  no  question  in  the  childish  mind  but  that 
this  was  the  boat  for  which  she  had  watched  and  waited 
— the  tide  which  should  bear  her  up  to  God's  golden 
shore  !  Her  eyes  looked  past  the  darkness  into  a  light 
•with  which  her  child  face  was  illumined.  What  was  the 
vision  of  the  white  child-soul  ?  WThat  did  the  child-eyes 
see,  where  the  man  saw  but  death  and  hell  ?  Who  can 
doubt  that  God's  golden  shore  was  indeed  before  her — 
that  already  her  angel  was  speeding  the  child-soul  to  it, 
folding  it  for  the  passage  in  its  glistening  white  wings ! 

As  the  oars  splashed  nearer,  and  the  boat  strained  in 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  337 

sight,  through  the  darkness  over  the  turmoil  of  the  waters 
a  familiar  voice  sounded. 

"  Keep  yer  grip,  Freshet  Sal !  "  it  quavered.  "  Dontee 
be  afeared,  little  gal !  Th'  old  boat  an'  th'  old  man's  'yer 
ter  save  ye  !  " 

"  Father  !  "  sobbed  Steele  ;  "  O,  father  !  " 

There  was  an  instant's  breathless  silence.  Then  over 
the  waters  echoed  one  ringing,  exultant  cry. 

"  My  son  Steele  !  "  it  rang.    "  O,  my  son  Steele  !  " 

Just  beside  the  cabin  swirled  the  current  that  eddied 
to  the  falls.  With  all  his  strength  the  old  man  rowed 
against  it.  The  fretted  oars  split,  the  old  boat  creaked 
and  strained,  its  rotten  timbers  cracked  and  parted.  The 
water  oozed  slowly  in. 

With  giant  strokes  he  pulled  it  within  reach  of  the 
cabin.  Then  he  dropped  the  oars,  and  clutching  with 
both  hands  the  jutting  eave  of  the  cabin,  by  main  force 
drew  the  boat  toward  it,  succeeding,  at  last,  in  steadying 
it  upon  the  submerged  window-sill.  Then  he  looked  up 
with  a  wan  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Gi'  me  th'  little  gal,"  he  panted,  "  an'  let  yersel'  down. 
Th'  water's  risin'." 

A  great  swell  struck  the  cabin.  It  trembled,  creaked, 
and  tottered.  From  the  shore  came  the  sound  of  voices, 
and  lanterns  and  torches  flashed. 

Standing  in  the  swaying  boat,  the  old  man,  clinging  to 
the  cabin  with  one  hand,  lifted  the  other  toward  the 
roof. 

"  Now !  "  he  gasped,  motioning  his  son  to  lower  Waif  to 
him. 

But  Steele  did  not  heed  him.  With  his  eyes  fixed  be- 
fore him  in  a  terrible  stare,  with  lips  white  and  damp 
with  the  dews  of  his  death-agony,  he  stood,  shaking 


338  A  SO^i  OF  ESAU. 

from  head  to  foot,  deaf  and  blind  to  his  father's  wild 
appeal. 

"  Steele  !  "  The  piteous  cry  rose  shudderingly  from  the 
waters.  "  My  son  Steele  !" 

A  second  and  stronger  swell  struck  the  cabin,  shaking 
it  to  its  foundations.  Little  by  little  the  logs  were  giving 
way.  There  was  a  strangled  creak  as  it  wavered  and 
shuddered  like  a  living  creature  in  fear.  Then  slowly, 
surely,  it  tipped  toward  the  yawning  waves. 

With  the  strength  of  despair,  the  old  man  drew  himself 
up  to  the  tilting  roof,  and  grasped  his  son  by  the  arm. 

"  It's  fallin',"  he  cried.  "  Th'  boat  '11  be  swamped 
under  it.  Fur  God's  sake — fur  'Soldy's  sake — fur  my 
sake " 

The  fixed  eyes  stared  ahead.  Over  the  dark  waters  a 
frightful  phantom  flitted,  the  foam  of  the  angry  billows 
its  ghastly  shroud.  Help !  Help  !  It  was  his  brother 
Jack — Sal's  husband,  Waif's  father,  vengeance  flaming  in, 
his  awful  eyes  ! 

"  Waif !  "  he  shrieked.  "  I  always  meant  to  do  well  by 
j-ou  !  I  have  done  well  by  you  !  Sal  and  Waif  are  righted, 
Jack — Sal  and  Waif  are  righted  !  Keep  between  us, 
Waif !  Help !  He  is  on  me  !  His  scorching  eyes — his 
strangling  arms — Waif  !  Waif ! — O  God  ! " 

The  old,  appealing,  despairing  human  cry  !  Uttered 
in  faith,  in  fear,  in  hope  since  in  piteous  petition  !  Who 
shall  say  that  even  in  that  late,  last  moment  it  rang  past 
Christ's  Cross,  unheard  ? 

The  cry  was  drowned,  even  as  it  was  uttered.  The 
cabin,  dislodged  at  last,  tipped  into  the  dark  waters, 
which,  like  a  pall,  closed  over  it ;  then  with  its  human 
freight,  it  was  sucked  into  the  maelstrom  of  the  flooded 
falls. 


CHAPTER  XXXIH. 

AN    END,    AND   A   BEGINNING. 

Six  months  later. 

The  flood  had  flowed  and  ebbed,  and  the  Freshet 
tragedy  was  already  a  thing  of  the  past.  Where  the 
waves  had  swirled,  the  deep  tides  seethed,  again  rose 
banks  and  meadows  green  with  summer.  The  site  of  the 
Freshet  cabin,  now  bleak  and  barren,  was  the  single  sur- 
viving mark  of  the  water's  fatal  passage.  Material  evi- 
dences, be  they  of  life  or  death,  are  but  transitory. 
Only  in  Isolde's  soul,  in  Sal's  sad  mother-heart,  the 
flood-mark  is  eternal. 

The  triple  Harriman  tragedy  ;  Sal's  ride,  with  its  well- 
nigh  fatal  ending ;  the  story  of  her  marriage,  which 
Isolde  roused  herself  from  her  grief  to  publish  and  au- 
thenticate ;  her  installation  in  the  Hai-riman  house,  in  de- 
fiance of  Althea's  open  protests  and  Newfield's  silent  dis- 
approval— all  had  been  a  nine  times  nine  days'  wonder 
to  the  little  town.  But  with  the  honorable  settlement, 
through  Kingsley,  of  the  banker's  financial  affairs,  the 
wonder,  like  the  flood  at  its  neap,  abated.  Upon  the 
death  of  the  banker,  the  law  had  stepped  in ;  only  to  step 
out  again  with  polite  apologies,  however,  when  Kingsley 
presented  legal  proof  that  as  the  banker's  surviving  part- 
ner, the  liabilities  of  the  bank  lawfully  devolved  upon 
him  ;  and  in  the  meantime,  happily  for  Kingsley,  the 


340  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

wave  of  financial  depression,  whose  tidal  passage  over  the 
country  bad  submerged  the  Newfield  Bank,  turned  and 
ebbed,  and  finally  receded  altogether.  As  the  natural  re- 
action set  in,  and  the  depressed  market  rebounded  with 
cork-like  lightness,  the  over-burden  which  had  swamped 
the  Harrimau  name  in  life,  saved  it  in  death.  Seizing  the 
most  advantageous  moment,  Kingsley  made  a  clear  sale 
of  all  the  Newfield  banker's  stock.  The  dead  paper  of 
two  mouths  before  sold  now  at  inflated  values ;  and  the 
sum  thus  realized  not  only  cancelled  all  honest  debts  and 
redeemed  all  dishonest  ones,  but  likewise  included  a  sur- 
plus which  served  to  clear  the  Harriman  home,  whose  heavy 
mortgage  had  been  Steele's  guilty  secret.  As  to  the 
Land  and  Mine  Companies  which  the  orator  of  the  bank- 
steps,  on  the  fatal  night  of  the  Freshet,  had  denounced  as 
frauds,  Kingsley  had  not,'  and  proved  that  he  had  not, 
been  implicated  in  them.  These  had  been  Steele's  pri- 
vate ventures,  and  though  not  strictly  legitimate  ones, 
resembled  the  devil  in  only  that  they  were  less  black 
than  they  had  been  painted.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  none 
of  the  investors  lost  by  them.  There  were  a  few  who 
knew,  and  many  who  suspected,  that  the  honorable  settle- 
ment of  the  Harriman  affairs  was  not  due  to  the  dead 
banker's  integrity  ;  but  even  these,  recalling  his  prompt 
payments  made  upon  demand  up  to  the  hour  of  his 
death,  faltered  in  their  conviction  against  him,  and  as 
time  went  on,  began  to  doubt  if  the  young  banker  had 
not  indeed  gone  down  to  a  hero's  rather  than  to  a  trait- 
or's grave.  The  men  who  would  have  been  most  pitiless 
to  him,  living,  were  the  most  charitable  to  him,  dead. 
They  forgot  the  criminal  and  fugitive,  and  remembered 
only  the  handsome,  dashing  young  banker,  the  "big 
house  "  host,  John  Harrirnan's  son.  In  life,  there  would 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  341 

have  been  no  dishonor  too  great  to  heap  upon  him,  to 
whom,  in  death,  they  granted  an  honored  memory  in  lieu 
of  an  honored  grave.  Who  shall  say  that  the  ways  of 
Providence  are  only  mysterious  ?  Thev  are  merciful,  as 
well. 

The  five  thousand  dollars,  found  where  the  banker  had 
placed  it,  in  the  pocket  of  the  coat  worn  by  Sal  during 
her  perilous  ride,  was  added,  by  Isolde's  desire,  to  the  sum 
the  law  settled  upon  Sal  as  Jack  Harriman's  legal  widow. 
None  suspected  whence  it  had  come.  The  only  one  who 
knew  kept  silence.  Isolde  did  not  suffer  her  to  keep 
aloof,  however.  Shortly  after  Steele's  death  she  had 
sought  Magdalen,  and  induced  the  guilty  but  penitent 
woman  to  return  to  Newfield  with  her.  Althea,  ignorant 
of  the  truth,  yet  suspected  the  association  to  be  quixoti- 
cal ;  and  declined  to  enter  the  house  while  Magdalen 
and  Sal  inhabited  it.  Overtaking  Kingsley  as  he  was 
walking  from  the  station  on  one  afternoon  of  early 
autumn,  she  drove-  him  to  the  gate,  however  ;  com- 
missioning him  to  acquaint  Isolde  with  a  sweet  se- 
cret which,  indeed,  she  was  far  from  unwilling  to  con- 
fide by  proxy.  The  personal  confidence  would  have  been 
embarrassing,  even  for  Althea.  It  was,  that  the  gold- 
mine president  had  capitulated. 

Isolde  pressed  her  baby  closer  to  her  breast  as  Kingsley 
told  her ;  but  she  made  no  audible  answer.  She  was 
thinking  of  little  Gaylord,  fatherless  now  as  her  own 
child.  The  tints  of  the  sunset  hovered  on  her  hair,  but 
they  desecrated  with  no  color  her  chastened  face,  lifting 
from  her  sombre  garments  like  a  lily  pure  and  pale. 

The  gate-latch  clicked.  Up  the  long  path  came  Jim, 
and  Sal  went  down  to  meet  him.  The  grime  of  the  road 
was  washed  off  him.  He  was  no  longer  "  Engine,"  but 


342  A  SOW  OF  ESAU. 

now  "Train-master  Jim."  The  social  promotion  was  re- 
flected in  the  physical  man.  He  looked  strong,  proud, 
confident.  But  Sal  went  toward  him  slowly.  The  bereft 
mother-arms,  the  lonely  mother-heart,  ached  with  their 
emptiness. 

Isolde's  eyes,  rather  than  her  lips,  smiled  at  Kingsley  as 
she  pointed  to  them. 

"  Her  wound  will  heal,"  she  said.  "  He  must  be  patient 
only  a  little  longer.  His  reward  is  slow  in  coming — slow, 
but  sure." 

Kingsley  had  done  nobly.  He  had  had  it  in  his  power 
to  enrich  himself  at  the  expense  of  the  Harriman  name, 
but  instead,  unknown  to  Isolde,  he  had  sacrificed,  to  clear 
the  name,  his  own  large  and  lawful  claim.  If  he  was  a 
poorer  man  for  the  deed,  he  was  likewise  a  happier  one. 
He  had  been  born  and  bred  a  good  man,  and  his  swerving 
from  the  straight  path  had  been  an  accident.  Retracing 
his  steps,  he  felt  the  light  heart  of  the  exile  who  treads 
once  more  his  native  heath.  Nevertheless  the  way  had 
been  long  and  lonely,  and  as  he  wended  it,  he  had  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  Isolde's  face,  as  the  mariner's  eyes  are  fixed 
on  his  beacon-star.  Did  she  know  it  ?  Ah  !  what  woman 
would  not  ?  Bat  the  star,  guiding  the  mariner  safely  to 
the  haven,  shines  still  afar  and  inaccessible  in  the  high, 
calm,  vestal  skies. 

Her  words  had  moved  him.  Impulsively  he  drew 
nearer  to  her.  She  read  and  resolved  to  answer  the  un- 
spoken question  in  his  eyes.  For  an  instant  she  hesitated, 
her  face  hidden  in  her  baby's  golden  curls.  "When  she 
lifted  it  there  was  the  light  upon  it  of  votive  consecration. 

"  As  for  me,"  she  said,  "  the  wound  will  never  heal.  I 
have  loved,  and  been  loved.  Hereafter,  my  life  belongs 
to  my  child — my  child  and  his— and  to  my  work." 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  343 

The  man's  face  paled.  He  had  known  that  his  dream 
was  vain,  yet  the  awakening  was  bitter.  She  had  her 
child,  and  her  work.  Yes  !  But  what  had  he  ? 

As  if  inspired,  her  soft  voice  answered  his  unspoken 
question.  She  had  stepped  beside  him,  and  laid,  in 
speaking,  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"In  all  our  lives,"  she  said,  "  there  is  some  sweet  hope 
unsatisfied,  some  sweet  dream  unrealized,  some  sweet 
prayer  denied.  The  little  pain  chastens  life,  refines,  en- 
nobles it.  It  purifies  it  from  the  stain  of  self  ;  conse- 
crates it  to  the  service  of  others.  A  few  weak  souls  fail 
their  mission ;  yours  is  not  one  of  these.  Look  behind 
you  !  There,  in  that  shadowed  corner,  your  mission  waits 
you — a  great,  a  noble,  a  Christ-sent  one,  not  only  to  the 
woman,  but  to  womanhood,  whose  service  is  the  noblest 
manhood  knows.  Two  years  ago  you  loved  her.  You 
love  her  still,  for  Jove  is  changeless,  deathless.  You  dream 
that  sin  has  slain  it,  but  the  wound  is  not  a  death-wound. 
Even  its  scar  is  yielding  to  her  soul's  repentant  tears." 

Silence,  long  and  deep  and  holy.  Silence  in  the 
shadowed  corner  ;  silence  as  the  man's  soul  wrestled ;  si- 
lence as  the  woman  sped  to  God  a  wordless  prayer. 

"  I  would  be  patient — even  for  years — asking  nothing, 
claiming  nothing.  Is  there  no  hope  for  me,  absolutely 
none  ?  "  he  cried,  miserably. 

"  There  is  every  hope  for  you — with  her !  "  she  replied. 

Her  answer  was  final.     He  accepted  it,  perforce. 

"  Then,  since  you  wish  it,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  I  will  go 
to  her  ;  but  it  is  too  late.  She  is  proud.  She  will  not 
hear  me." 

"  She  will  hear  you,"  whispered  Isolde.  "  God  be  with 
you.  Go." 

Toward  the  shadowed  corner  he  went  slowly. 


344  A  SON  OF  ESAU, 

"  Magdalen,"  he  whispered. 

Slowly,  joylessly,  the  beautiful  brown  eyes  lifted — eyes 
pathetic  not  in  their  joylessuess,  but  in  their  lack  of 
hope. 

"  Magdalen,"  he  said,  "  we  two  stand  in  the  world'alone 
and  stranded  ;  the  old  life  lies  behind  us — the  world,  at 
least  to  one  of  us,  denies  a  new.  Singly,  we  are  weak — 
together,  strong.  A  man  alone  is  but  half  a  power,  a 
woman  alone,  powerless  ;  but  the  man  and  woman  united 
make  the  motor-force  which  propels  life,  controls  the 
world,  commands  it.  Place  your  woman-hand  in  mine, 
Magdalen.  We  will  face  the  world  together !  " 

She  yearned  toward  him  as  the  Peri  yearned  toward 
heaven,  but  her  pride  resisted. 

"  I  am  not  worthy,"  she  moaned. 

"  My  worth  is  lower.  For  my  wounds  of  sin  I  ask  your 
box  of  precious  ointment.  Not  for  my  feet,  Magdalen, 
but  for  my  heart !  " 

"  I  cannot !  "  she  sobbed.     "  I  cannot !  " 

Isolde  heard,  and  answered  her. 

"  You  can,  Magdalen,"  she  whispered.  "  Will  you  listen 
while  I  tell  you  how?  " 

Only  the  mute  eyes  answered  her — pathetic  eyes  no 
longer.  Behind  their  tears  was  shining  the  light  of  hope 
re-born. 

Isolde  spoke  : 

"To  her  woman's  place  in  the  world,  Life  led  her.  She 
was  young,  and  very  beautiful.  Her  garments  were  white 
and  floating,  like  angel-wings.  Her  hands  were  filled  with 
flowers.  Experience,  an  old,  white-headed  man,  smiled 
bitterly  as  he  saw  them.  A  white  rose  budded  on  her 
breast.  Its  scent  was  sweet." 

"I  used  to  know  that  sweet  white  flower/'  he  said, 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  345 

"  but  the  world  uproots  such,  and  I  have  forgotten  it. 
Will  you  tell  me  its  name  ?  " 

"  Its  name,"  she  said,  "  is  Innocence." 

And  he  smiled  again,  the  same  sad,  bitter  smile  ;  and 
summoned  one,  bold-eyed  and  glowing-lipped,  whose 
name  was  Passion. 

And  Passion  asked  :    "  What  do  you  wish  of  me? " 

Experience  answered  :  "  She  wears  the  pure  white  bud 
of  perfect  Innocence.  Until  you  wrest  it  from  her,  I  can- 
not teach  her  the  lessons  she  must  learn." 

And  Passion  promised:  "I  will  wrest  it  from  her." 
And  he  sought  her,  in  her  garments  white  and  floating 
like  angel-wings. 

"You  still  wear  Innocence?"  he  asked,  and  leaned 
toward  her,  and  smiled  upon  her  with  his  bold,  bad  eyes. 

"  I  shall  wear  it  always,"  she  said,  shrinking  from 
him. 

"You  have  worn  it  for  the  last  time,"  he  exulted.  " If 
you  wore  it  still,  you  would  not  shrink  thus  from  me. 
Its  petals  would  bloom  between  us,  like  angel-wings." 

"  I  wear  it  still,"  she  said,  with  tears  in  her  soft  eyes  ; 
"  but  it  is  fading." 

"It  will  fade  on,"  he  told  her,  "until  you  know  why 
you  shrink  from  me.  When  you  know,  it  will  bloom 
again — but  not  as  whitely." 

"Tell  me  why  I  shrink  from  you,"  she  prayed,  with 
outstretched  hands,  "that  it  may  fade  no  more." 

He  clasped  the  soft  white  hands  in  both  his  own,  and 
smiled  into  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know,  yet  ?  "  he  asked  her.  And  she  flushed 
and  shrank  and  trembled,  but  she  answered,  "No ! " 

Then  he  drew  her  closer,  face  toward  face,  till  their  lips 
met.  "Do  you  know,  yet?"  he  asked  again.  And  she 


346  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

burned  and  thrilled  and  quivered,  but  her  lips  still  an- 
swered, "No." 

Then  lie  opened  his  arms,  and  caught  her  closer — 
closer.  Only  lips  to  lips  they  were  no  longer,  but  heart 
to  heart. 

"  Do  you  know,  now?  "  he  whispered. 

And  cowering,  weeping,  shuddering,  she  answered, 
"Yes." 

And  lo  !  the  bud  on  her  breast  was  the  sweet  white  bud 
of  Innocence  no  longer.  The  bud  had  bloomed,  the  white 
rose  blushed.  Innocence  had  matured  to  Knowledge. 

Upon  the  flowers  still  fair 'and  fresh  within  her  hands 
she  looked  down  sadly.  She  was  wondering  if  they  too 
would  change. 

And  Experience  came  again,  and  looking  at  the  flowers, 
drew  from  them  five  sweet  violets,  and  asked  her,  "  What 
are  their  names  ?  " 

And  she  answered :  "  These  are  the  blue-eyed  flowers 
of  Youthful  Dreams,  and  their  names  are  Faith,  Hope, 
Friendship,  Love,  and  Joy." 

"  Faith  in  what  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"Faith  is  a  dual  flower,"  she  told  him  ;  "and  its  blos- 
soms are  Faith-in-God,  and  Faith-in-Man  !  " 

And  he  smiled  once  more — the  same  sad,  bitter  smile  ; 
and  summoned  one,  wan-eyed,  chill-breathed — by  name 
Uufaith. 

"While  she  wears  Faith,"  he  whispered,  "I  cannot 
teach  her  the  world's  lessons." 

And  Unfaith  breathed  upon  the  blue-eyed  flower,  and 
both  its  blossoms  paled  and  shrunk  and — died ! 

"O  my  Faith !  my  Faith!"  moaned  the  maiden,  and 
kissed  the  dead  bud  as  it  fluttered  to  the  ground. 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  3±7 

But  Uiifaith  said,  and  Experience  told  her  he  spoke 
truly: 
."Faith  was  only  a  dream." 


And  Experience  touched  the  second  flower.  Like  Faith, 
it  bore  a  double  blossom.  It  was  bright  and  warm  and 
fair. 

"  What  is  its  name  ?  "  he  asked  her,  touching  its  bluer 
blossom. 

And  she  answered,  "  Divine  Hope." 

"  Hope — of  what  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"Hope  of  the  soul  for  heaven,"  she  would  have  an- 
swered, but  her  voice  faltered  ;  the  words  failed  her.  Soul 
and  heaven  were  dreams,  since  Faith  was  but  a  dream — 
dreams,  all  three — dead  dreams  ! 

And  her  tears  fell  on  them,  but  even  as  she  wept,  her 
sad  eyes  brightened. 

"  You  have  taken  from  me  Innocence,  and  Faith,  and 
Divine  Hope  in  soul  and  heaven,"  she  said  ;  "but  Human 
Hope  at  least  is  left  me." 

And  he  answered,  "Is  it?" 

And  summoned  to  her  side — Despair. 

Only  three  of  the  blue-eyed  flowei's  of  Youthful  Dreams 
were  left  her.  Hope,  like  Faith,  was  trampled  in  the  dust. 

Experience  touched  the  third  flower. 

"Its  name?"  he  asked  her. 

And  she  answered  "Friendship,"  and  pressed  it  to  her 
lips  in  fond  caress. 

"  Innocence,  and  Faith,  and  Hope  have  fled  me,"  she 
sobbed,  "  but  you  at  least  are  faithful,  0  my  friend,  my 
friend ! " 


348  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

"You  shall  test  her,"  smiled  Experience.  And  he 
summoned  the  revealer,  Truth. 

"  She  says,"  he  whispered,  "  that  her  friend  is  true  and 
faithful." 

And  Truth  asked  her :  "  Besides  Friendship,  \vhat 
Youthful  Dreams  are  left  ?  " 

And  the  maiden  answered  :  "  Innocence,  and  Faith,  and 
Hope  are  wakened  ;  but  Friendship  dreams  on  still,  and 
Love,  and  Joy." 

And  Truth  said  :  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Joy  are 
dreams  that  wake  all  three  together,"  and  lifted  the  veil 
of  Distance,  and  bade  the  maiden  look. 

And  in  the  arms  of  her  lover  she  saw  her  friend  ;  and 
heard  them,  between  their  kisses,  mock  her  faith  and  love  ; 
and  the  dreams  of  Friendship  and  Love  were  wakened, 
and  Joy  died,  in  bearing  Pain. 


Again  Experience  sought  her.  Her  hands  were  almost 
empty.  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Friendship,  and  Love,  and 
Joy  had  fled  them.  Only  two  fair  flowers  were  left. 

One  was  a  pure  white  lily.     Experience  touched  it. 

"  I  do  not  know  it,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  sad,  pure  eyes.  Her  pale 
lips  parted  proudly. 

"You  took  my  Innocence,"  she  said,  "and  left  me 
Knowledge.  You  have  robbed  me  of  Faith,  and  Hope, 
and  Friendship,  and  Love,  and  Joy — the  sweet  brief 
dreams  of  Youth  and  Innocence  ;  but  you  have  done  your 
worst.  This  lily  is  mine  forever.  Its  name  is  Purity." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  You  have  not  sullied  it  yet  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  I  shall  never  sully  it,"  she  answered. 


y  OF  ESAU.  349 


Then  he  summoned  Temptation. 

As  an  angel  of  light  Temptation  came  to  her.  His  white 
wings  hid  his  cloven  foot. 

So  she  listened  to  him,  at  first  shyly,  then  with  spell- 
bound eyes  and  parted  quivering  lips.  And  when  he 
bade  her  follow  him,  she  went  resistlessly  ;  unheedful  of 
her  beautiful  lily  of  Purity,  which  Temptation,  with  his 
cloven  foot,  was  trampling  in  the  dust. 


In  years  that  seemed  like  days  to  her — Sin  wings  time, 
Virtue  alone  drags  it — she  returned.  She  was  changed. 
Her  garments,  that  had  been  white  and  floating  like 
angel-pinions,  were  white  and  floating  no  longer.  Their 
white  was  sullied.  They  trailed  behind  her  like  broken 
wings.  She  was  very  pale,  and  her  lips  were  as  lips  of 
marble.  A  single  flower,  the  white  tube-rose,  was  in  her 
hand. 

Experience  shunned  her  eyes,  and  fled  her.  But  one 
replaced  him,  whose  name  she  did  not  know. 

"Give  me  your  flower,"  he  told  her. 

But  she  clasped  it  to  her  breast  and  pleaded  wildly. 

"  Not  this  !  not  this  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  yielded  Inno- 
cence, and  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Friendship,  and  Love, 
and  Joy,  and  Purity.  None  can  give  them  back.  I  will 
not  live  without  them.  I  will  not  yield  this  chill,  pale 
flower — the  sweet,  sweet  flower  of  Death  !  " 

But  he  snatched  it  from  her,  and  flung  it  backward — 
far,  far  back,  over  the  long,  lone  path  her  weary  spirit 
must  retrace. 

And  he  said  to  her  :  "  Death  I  hold  to  the  laughing  lips 
of  Joy,  but  from  Pain's  wan  lips  I  wrest  it." 

"  But  why  ?  "  she  moaned.     "  Why  ?  " 


350  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

Aud  he  answered,  "  Because  I  am  Retribution,  first- 
born of  Justice.  And  he  who  sows  Pain  must  reap  it, 
and  its  seeds  are  Love,  Joy,  Sin." 

"I  sowed  no  Love,"  she  cried,  "for  Love,  ere  Life's 
springtime,  failed  me.  I  sowed  no  Joy.  Pain  snatched 
it  from  me  ere  I  knew  the  seed." 

"  You  sowed  Sin,"  he  told  her. 

"  Last,  not  first !  "  she  pleaded. 

But  he  thundered,  "First!  " 

"  How  ?  "  she  moaned. 

To  the  red  rose  on  her  breast  he  pointed  sternly. 

"As  the  bud  expands  to  bloom,  so  my  Innocence  matured 
to  Knowledge,"  she  sobbed.  "I  could  not  hold  it  back." 

And  she  strove  to  tear  the  red  rose  from  its  place,  but 
she  could  not  loosen  it  Its  thorns  were  bedded  in  her 
shuddering  woman-breast. 

"  The  bud  of  Innocence  must  bloom  to  Knowledge," 
he  said,  "  but  Life,  and  Maturity,  and  Wisdom,  and  above 
all,  Love,  should  have  matured  it.  You  suffered  Passion 
to  usurp  them.  Therein  lay  your  sin." 

And  she  answered  not,  but  crouched  with  shamed  face, 
mute. 

And  Retribution  spoke  on. 

"Faith  and  Hope,''"  he  said,  "are  theologic  virtues, 
whose  pure  and  holy  influence  had  guarded  Friendship 
true  and  Love  inviolate,  if  the  vice  of  human  Passion  had 
not  sullied  your  soul's  shrine.  Joy  had  abided  with  them, 
and  by  their  strength  Temptation  been  resisted.  Then 
Purity,  the  celestial  lily,  had  not  been  lost  and  trodden 
in  the  dust!" 

"The  loss,  is  it  eternal?  "  she  moaned.  "  Shall  I  never 
find  it,  never  wear  it  again  ?  May  its  sullied  petals  never 
more  be  white  ?  " 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  351 

Beneath  his  silence  she  shrunk  in  shaine  and  anguish, 
cowering  till  her  fair  head  pressed  the  dust. 

"  Death  !     Death  !     Death  !  "  she  moaned. 

And  he  asked  her :  "  Why  do  you  wish  for  Death,  you, 
who  are  young  and  beautiful  ?  " 

And  she  answered  :  "  Because  of  remorse  and  shame." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  his  eyes  grew  soft  and  tender. 
He  raised  her  from  the  ground,  and  lifted  her  face  toward 
his. 

"  Remorse  redeems  the  sin,"  he  said.  "  Be  not  ashamed. 
My  silence  meant  no  evil.  I  did  not  answer,  because  I 
do  not  know.  It  is  a  question  which  not  a  man,  but  a 
woman  must  answer — a  woman  who  has  sinned  and  has 
repented,  and  whose  punishment  is  to  wear  upon  her 
breast,  not  the  white  rose  of  Death,  but  the  blood-red 
thorn  of  Life.  The  world  awaits  the  answer.  Will  you 
be  the  woman  to  give  it  ?  " 

A  great  but  chastened  joy  flashed  into  her  pale 
face. 

"  I  will  be  the  woman,"  she  answered.  "  O,  I  will  be 
the  woman,  if  I  may !  " 

"  The  thorn-wound  will  be  cruel,"  he  said.  "  For  years 
it  will  pierce  and  torture  your  woman -heart." 

She  bared  her  warm  white  breast  in  swift,  mute  answer, 
and  over  her  heart,  where  the  soft  flesh  was  most  tender, 
he  sunk  the  cruel  thorn. 

"Its  prongs  are  many,"  he  said:  "  Pride  and  Preju- 
dice, the  Taunt  of  Man  and  the  Scorn  of  Woman  ;  Malice, 
Envy,  Distrust.  Their  sting  is  bitter.  Can  you  endure 
it  ?  It  has  no  human  balm." 

"  No  human  balm  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Then  what  balm 
has  it  ?  " 

"The  balm,"  he  answered,  "of  Divine  Forgiveness." 


352  A  SON  OF  ESAU. 

She  fell  on  her  knees.     Her  face  was  rapt,  exalted. 

"Where  the  God  leads,  the  man  must  follow,"  she  cried. 
"The  human  forgiveness  will  come — in  time." 

And  lo !  as  she  rose,  eyes  wet,  and  heart  still  bleed- 
ing, the  celestial  lily  of  Purity  glowed  snow-white  upon 
her  breast. 


"  Magdalen  !  "  called  Kingsley. 

She  sunk  on  her  knees  beside  him.  The  mute  act  was 
her  answer.  She  had  wept  the  tears,  she  had  borne  the 
thorn-wounds.  Her  sin's  redemption  was  consummated 
with  her  prayer. 

Isolde  stole  away,  leaving  the  two  together.  With  her 
child  on  her  breast,  she  sped  through  the  falling  dusk, 
the  deepening  shadows,  to  the  brink  of  the  lonely  Freshet. 
In  her  eyes  were  tears,  but  they  shone  with  the  light  of 
stars. 

"The  last  of  your  wrongs  is  righted,"  she  sobbed, 
sinking  upon  her  knees  and  leaning  her  lips  to  the  chill 
dark  waters.  "  O  my  darling,  my  darling,  at  last  you  may 
sleep  in  peace  ! " 

Over  the  twilight  shadows  a  silvery  chime  broke 
softly.  From  the  little  Catholic  chapel  was  ringing  the 
vesper-bell. 

She  listened  till  the  last  sweet  echo  faded.  Then  her 
eyes  turned  toward  the  spire,  cross-shaped  against  the 
evening  sky. 

"It  is  the  faith  of  my  fathers,"  she  murmured.  "For 
my  son's  sake,  I  will  go  back  to  it.  It  is  the  faith  that 
keeps  men  pure  because  it  holds  women  holy ;  which 
makes  marriage  a  sacrament,  and  love  eternal ;  spanning 
the  grave,  and  pointing  love's  service  beyond  it, — past 


A  SON  OF  ESAU.  353 

the   mortal   flesh,   death-smitten,  to   the   live,   immortal 
soul ! " 
The  words  of  the  grand  old  requiem  recurred  to  her : 

"Eternal  rest  give  unto  them,  0  Lord!  " 
"  And  let  perpetual  light  shine  upon  them." 
"  May  they  rest  in  peace." 

And  the  Freshet  waters  responded, 
"Amen  !  Amen !" 


THE  EXD. 


.     .     .     "  Long  green  days, 

Worn  bare  of  grass  and  sunshine — long  calm  nights, 
From  which  the  silken  sleeps  were  fretted  out, 
Be  witness  for  me,  with  no  amateur's 
Irreverent  haste  and  busy  idleness, 
I  set  myself  to  art !    What  then  ?    What's  done  ? 
What's  done,  at  last  ? 

Behold  at  last,  a  book  !  "f 

Aurora  Leigh. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  040  093     7 


